


Drive

by AdamantEve



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jughead on a motorcycle, Jughead was in a gang, POV of Betty, POV of Jughead, Worst kind of Alice Cooper, criminal activity, gearhead Betty, not a slow burn at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 176,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantEve/pseuds/AdamantEve
Summary: College AU. When Betty escapes into the Blossom private library during a party, she meets tall, dark, and broody Jughead Jones. She projects a typical neurotic college student persona, but Jughead doesn’t buy it. He knew in his bones that there was more to her than meets the eye.When they share each other’s secrets, it’s electric and they have no idea where it's going to take them.





	1. How to be a Nerd

**Author's Note:**

> As I start to process what happened on the show and the previews of the next episode, I realized that there's really nothing to do but put out this story that I have that's been sitting on my cloud drive. This is nowhere near as finished as "Harvest" when I started posting that story. This story so far has 12 chapters, but it needs HEAVY revisions and will not be updated as quickly as "Harvest". Also, it will probably have more than 12 chapters. 
> 
> When I first started writing this story, I thought it was kind of improbable, but when I saw the previews for the next episode, I was like, "Well, I'll be damned..." So yeah, this was written way before "Harvest" was even a speck in my mind.
> 
> I figured I'd post this story before I put out the other supernatural one that I've started writing. I hope you like this first chapter.

I'm sorry if I seem uninterested

Or I'm not listenin' or I'm indifferent

Truly, I ain't got no business here

But since my friends are here

I just came to kick it but really

I would rather be at home all by myself not in this room

With people who don't even care about my well-being

I don't dance, don't ask, I don't need a boyfriend

So you can go back, please enjoy your party

I'll be here, somewhere in the corner under clouds of marijuana

With this boy who's hollering I can hardly hear

Over this music I don't listen to and I don't wanna get with you

So tell my friends that I'll be over here

\--Alesia Carr,  _ Here _

_ What the hell am I doing here? _

Maybe it was all just part of what she has since realized was a pathetic naivete. The kind of bright-eyed view of life she first had when she set foot in the city, with the big dreams and big plans only a girl who grew up in a small upstate New York town could have.  

When you grow up in a town that the local radio station dubbed the Emerging Empire--30 years ago--and it hasn’t so much as peeked from the hole in the ground it was in, you dreamed of leaving it and going to the city, where the  _ real  _ New York was.

But it wasn’t that she left Riverdale like an innocent lamb. She’d had her dramas and her diversions. Had her traumas and tribulations. She’d been enslaved and saved, and she’d risen from the ashes.  

 

Amidst that ruin, she found herself, and she developed what she would call a hobby that the townspeople would have been scandalized to learn was Betty Cooper’s past time. She had lived most of her high school with secrets she obsessively kept to herself, subversions and survival techniques that got her through the utterly maddening expectations of being the over achieving blonde princess that literally made her want to purge on a daily basis.

If not for those complications, high school, by itself, would have been beyond boring. To be sure, for a while, she managed to pretend to like it with a practiced brilliant smile and a perky attitude that sent the village goths running, but that was after all a house of cards, which came tumbling down at the first sign of trouble. 

 

But even with all that, she  _ was  _ a smiling human being. She wasn’t naturally sullen. She was optimistic and upbeat, just that life had given her a challenging deck to begin with, and the regular stuff couldn’t keep up.  And it hadn’t been for lack of trying. She always tried. She even did cheerleading, the epitome of pep, just to see if it would add bounce to what she generally considered her troubled mind. 

 

It eventually proved to be as unstimulating as everything else, so off to the races she kept going.  And going. And going.

Betty Cooper liked to go fast. Especially if it meant leaving Riverdale behind.

 

********

_ So what the hell am I doing here? _

Betty Cooper was fidgeting uneasily where she stood, wondering why she had bothered to come here when her cousin, Cheryl Blossom, wouldn’t have noticed if she had come and gone.

There were gyrating bodies all around her, bumping her from all sides, spilling drinks and knocking other people over to the beat of the house music pumping through the gigantic speakers. And there was so much skin. So much.

Women were in tiny little dresses showing off their best assets, and Betty didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, honestly, but because she went straight from school, she wasn’t exactly blending in.

Cheryl had said it was just a small, casual get-together. If Betty had known it would be a glammed up rave party, she would have faked a migraine.

She tugged self-consciously at her pink skull t-shirt. Maybe she should tie it up and show a bit of midriff? Her black skinny jeans could pass for glam if her studded belt were showing, right?

_ Or maybe just pull your hair over your face and sneak off before anyone recognizes you. _

“Betty!”

_ Too late. _

She turned and saw Kevin Keller. He pushed through the crowd, staring at her like she’d tracked mud into the house.

“Hi!” he chimed, his face between a cringe and grin. “What are you wearing?”

“Failure, apparently,” she grumbled. She forced a smile on her face. “I thought this was a casual get together. I even brought my laptop, in case I can get some homework done.”

“Okay, first of all, you should have known that Cheryl Blossom doesn’t do small and this was clearly going to be the first big party of the school year. You’re a smart girl and you should have known. You look cute, as always, but you could have done way better. Secondly, laptop? Seriously, Betty?”

She threw up her hands. “Well, I have a paper--”

“Paper, schmaper. Live a little!”

“Schmaper?” She looked around her helplessly and began to yell. “Excuse me! Am I the only one going to college around here?”

Nobody paid attention to her, of course and Kevin just gave her a gently chiding look.

“Honey, just grab a drink. You’re gorgeous enough that your outfit won’t matter, ultimately. What’s with the cutesy hairband, though?”

She held onto it instinctively. “I feel like it sometimes. It makes me look like I don’t give a fuck and I like that…”

Kevin sighed and smiled. “You are the only person I know who has to try hard to look like a bum. Get a drink, for God’s sake. If Cheryl sees you like that, she’ll disown you from the Blossom fortune.”

“I never really had a stake in it.”

“You don’t know that for sure until you see the will.”

“Alright now, Schroedinger.”

“If I don’t see you again, I’ll see you at home. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

Betty wiggled her fingers at her roommate and best friend as he left, waving to someone across the room as he went.

Hitching her laptop bag more securely around her shoulders, she tried to make her way to the penthouse library without being seen, which shouldn’t be so hard, considering she was pretty near invisible, the way she looked.

The Blossom penthouse was certainly a bigger piece of real estate than was common in New York city, but when one’s family occupied a place in the 1%, real estate like this was just one of many. Betty had been to Cheryl’s penthouse many times, a privilege she had by winning the genetic lottery--being Cheryl Blossom’s third cousin, strictly the family charity case, being one of the “poor relations” that just happened to get into Columbia, so  _ of course  _ they were obligated to acknowledge her as one of “them.”

Betty, however, never considered herself “poor”. She was raised in a middle class neighborhood, was educated, and she knew how to class it up when required, but she supposed when one had $30 million penthouses in New York City, then she was indeed dirt poor by comparison.

Cheryl tolerated her, but Betty suspected it was because she wasn’t bad to look at. She was blonde, perky, and just generally not embarrassing to be around with.  Also, Cheryl’s girlfriend liked her, genuinely. Veronica Lodge, another billionaire's daughter, liked Betty more than her cousin did, probably.

Which Betty thought was just as well.  She wasn’t sure if most of her family liked each other, honestly.

She turned a hallway where it had gotten considerably quieter. A few couples had found the darker hallway and was making out in the corners, but she crept past them and reached the library doors, much to her relief.

She pushed through into the library and slammed the doors closed. For a moment, she pressed her forehead to the door, taking deep breaths as she revelled in the relative quiet of the room. When the beat of her pulse began to separate from the beat of the music outside, she turned to make her way to one of the reading chairs.

Only to be frightened out of her wits by someone already sitting in one of them. She gave a yelp, then an embarrassed chuckle. “Oh, my God, you fuck--erm, you scared me.”

He arched an eyebrow and she tried to make the situation less awkward by being, it seemed, more awkward. She took him in, trying to smile through her inner turmoil. Draped on a reading chair with one foot propped up on an ottoman, he looked extremely comfortable reading Julian Barnes’s  _ Arthur & George.  _ She took note of the combat boots, the dark jeans, the flannel layer over a wife-beater, the leather jacket hanging off the side of his chair, and a crown-shaped beanie, all of which packaged a long, lithe body, jet black hair, and startlingly blue eyes.

“I--um,” she stammered. “Didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

He seemed mildly surprised, then amused by this comment. “Not usually the reading crowd, are they?”

The sarcasm caught her a little off guard. This crowd, as he so succinctly stated, wasn’t much for clever repartee, even if there  _ were  _ a handful of people she liked.

_ If you had, like, just three fingers. Or really small hands. _

“Wouldn’t team up with them during Trivia Night at the local bar,” she replied, biting her bottom lip the moment she finished saying it. She regretted her words immediately but decided not to take it back.

Again, his eyebrow arched, but a cautious smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He nodded at the bag strapped to her. “Did you bring a laptop to this party?”

She looked at her bag, clapped a hand on it and pursed her lips, nodding. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

_ Own your nerd-dom, baby. _

He was trying not to smile. She could tell.

“I respect that,” he finally said.

“That would make you the only one,” she replied, snapping her finger at him as she tried, with what dignity she had left, to make her way to another reading chair so she can settle in. Now that she had made a complete fool of herself, she may as well do what she insisted on doing.  

It turned out that the only other reading chair there was was perpendicular to his, which meant they could be looking at one another all night, unless they decide to ignore each other from this point on, which was unfriendly. She was no such thing.

Friendly was her thing. It was less stressful and therefore more optimal to her mental balance.

“I’m Betty, by the way,” she said, taking out her laptop. “And yes, it’s a weird name. I recognize it’s very ye old timey Madmen, but my father is ye old timey as you can get and he got it to stick with everyone else. Only my mother called me Elizabeth and usually when she was telling me to do something I’d rather not do, or when she told me that I was eating too many carbs and… well, I’d rather not be reminded. Sorry, you didn’t need to know that.”

He didn’t look put off, honestly. She hadn’t lost him yet, by the look on his face.  “One woman’s ‘ye old timey’ is another man’s retro. I don’t think Betty is a weird name.”

She appraised him again. So he looked a little hipstery, but strangely, she didn’t think that of him at all. There was something very natural about his outfit, like he wore it because he’d been doing so his whole life, not because it was some new trend he picked up in Brooklyn. Maybe it had to do with his build? His flannel was folded up to his elbows and she could see the tone in his arms and maybe his shoulders. He didn’t look like he went to the gym, he looked like he hauled monoblocks and bags of cement at construction sites.

_ Didn’t take long for you to objectify him, did you? _

“Most people have told me otherwise,” she said.

He cocked a smile, pausing to give her a look, and she could almost hear him saying,  _ I’m not most people.  _ Instead, he said, “I’m Jughead.”

Okay, so maybe her name wasn’t so weird after all. It couldn’t have been his real name, though. It wasn’t the kind of name your parents gave you. It wasn’t even the kind of name hipster parents gave you. They went with names like Bronx or Rainbow or Finnegan.

“Nice to meet you, Jughead,” she replied, smoothly, without the slightest indication that she had given his name more than a single thought. “So I’m here for homework. What’s your excuse?”

“You came to this party to do homework?”

It was a clever deflection, but she didn’t want to be contrary. She shrugged. “Cheryl’s a distant cousin of mine so she’s obligated to invite me to everything. I am obligated to accept, in turn. She told me this was going to be a small gathering and I have a paper to submit in the morning, so like the social dumbass that I am…”

His eyes lit up at “social dumbass”. Did she surprise him? She had that effect. Nobody ever expected her to spew a profanity and everyone thought she had a curfew. But more importantly, did he like this surprise?

“And here I thought I was the reigning social dumbass in the joint,” he said, the corners of his lip twitching.

He liked.

“You’ve clearly met your match, Jughead.”

He smirked, closing his book, and she half wondered if he actually thought her more interesting than  _ Arthur & George.  _ “So you’re Betty Blossom?”

She snorted. “Oh, dear God, no.” Then she paused. Actually, she kind of was. “Could have been, but there was drama in the family history. The Blossom brothers had a falling out--my great grandfather, he got disowned and he changed his name to Cooper.” She didn’t know why she was telling him all this. She gestured to the premises around her. “I have no share in any of this, except to borrow the facilities for some peace and quiet.”

He tilted his gaze at her. “I’m kinda ruining your peace and quiet, aren’t I?”

She felt her face getting hot. “Oh you aren’t--you’re fine. I mean, I interrupted your reading--”

“I’ve read this book before. It’s the only mystery book they have around here. All of these are...” He waved his hand around, as if he couldn’t be bothered to mention what the books were.

“Reference books,” she replied knowingly. “Prescriptive--law, philosophy, boating, investment banking, the occasional romance book that Cheryl loves… I get it. I’ve looked.” And she tried not to sound too dismissive. She had no right to complain about the books on these shelves as this was not her home.  “Still, would it kill them to have a James Joyce here or there? Edgar Allan Poe, maybe?”

He nodded, his gaze appraising. “You don’t strike me as the  _ Raven  _ type...”

“I’m not. I’m more  _ Annabel Lee  _ . And I bet you’re more  _ Cask of Amontillado.” _

“It’s the leather, isn’t it?”

She giggled. “Little bit.  And you?” she asked. “What brings you here? To the party, I mean. Are you a cousin, too? Are we related?”

He pretended to give it a thought. “Highly unlikely. My best friend, Archie--he got invited. He always does, to these things, and he drags me along. He is under the impression that I can learn to enjoy myself at these frivolous festivities. Even if nine times out of ten, I would choose to watch Hitchcock and Scorsese on Netflix than be surrounded by strangers. But he and I are like brothers so maybe I’m obligated, too.”

She grinned at that. This was the mythical creature of lore. The guy who hated parties but showed up in them for one reason or another. She didn’t dislike parties herself, but she was a planner. She didn’t like being surprised like this. She wanted to know what clothes to wear and what stuff to bring. This whole episode was, to her, a complete disaster.

Not so much now, though. She found that she was glad being in this library, getting to know this handsome stranger named Jughead. Who liked mystery books and leather, looked like he belonged in flannel, liked old movies, had good language skills, and hated crowds.

She was tempted to ask him what he majored in, but that question was way too mundane. Jughead was much too interesting for that kind of question. She reserved those questions for guys like Jason Blossom, her cousin and Cheryl’s twin, or Reggie Mantle, an obnoxious junior whom, she heard, talked like he was God’s gift to women.

No. A guy like Jughead deserved a question like, “So you like Hitchcock? What’s your favorite Hitchcock film?”

He smirked, eyebrow raised and meeting her gaze. “The one with the blondes in them.”

She so wanted to  _ not  _ think too much of it.  HItchcock’s best movies were certainly lead by his famous blondes, but that then, was most of his movies. Maybe that’s all he was trying to say. He liked most of Hitchcock’s films. Still, it gave her an odd thrill, that this was how Jughead flirted. She dug it. He was brainy, which was a total turn on. Or maybe he wasn’t flirting at all.

She wanted to flirt her ass off, because Jughead was messing with her mind and she found it exhilarating. “I’m partial to  _ North by Northwest  _ myself.”

He seemed impressed by that, and she could have imagined his breath hitching, because sometimes when she wanted things to be true, her mind ran away with it, but the library doors opened and Kevin and Veronica burst through.

“Oh my God, bitch, I knew it!” Kevin cried. “I  _ told  _ you she was doing homework, Veronica!”

Veronica flipped her gorgeous black locks and stood over Betty in her super tight purple dress. “Oh, pish, Kevin. You know I think she’s adorable this way, but all work and no play makes Betty a dull slut.”

“Slut? Really?” Betty asked.

Veronica sighed. “Apologies. Cheryl is rubbing off on me.” She looked over her shoulder at Kevin, then realized that someone else was in the room. “Oh, hi, Jughead. Not really that surprised you’re here, too, actually.”

Jughead just saluted her.

“Come out and play,” Kevin said breathily. “If you do, all the guys will come and play with us. You’re our secret weapon, you know.”

“Mmm, hmm,” Veronica replied, nodding. “It’s those gorgeous eyes of hers. So vulnerable and innocent. Guys go mad for it and the girls on my side of the fence want to obliterate it with some good--” She made an obscene gesture with her fingers and tongue, which sent Kevin roaring with laughter.

Betty rolled her eyes and made circles with her hands, as if to encompass all that was going on in this room. “Okay, first of all, none of that is true. Second, put that tongue and finger away, Veronica! What would Cheryl say, for shame!”

“Oh, believe me when I say she  _ loves the fuck  _ out of it.”

Betty shook her head and squared her shoulders. “I’m not going out there. I’m not. I’ve got homework for my Feature Writing class.”

“Didn’t you finish that paper last night?” Kevin said, like the traitor he was.

She gave him a Die Now look. “Yes. But I read it again this morning and my first paragraph is so cliched that a Dark and Stormy Knight came in and carried it somewhere over the rainbow.”

“You’re a journalism major,” Jughead piped in, suddenly.

She realized just how eager she was to get back into conversation with Jughead. “Why, yes, I--”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Veronica cried, flipping her laptop closed. “Paper schmaper!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Betty demanded.

“Put that laptop away! We need participants for our Spin the Bottle game.”

Betty scowled. “What are we, thirteen?”

“Quit complaining. It’ll be fun!”

They managed to get her to stand, and Betty wondered whether she could make a grab for her laptop and run. She ran almost every day. She would be effective at this form of escape.

“Jug, you in there?” came a voice from beyond the doors. A redhead walked in, and Betty surmised he was the type of good looking that ladies went mad for, what with the tight body and ready smile on his face, but she’d seen too many like him, and all of them had bored her senseless.

Jughead groaned. “Please don’t tell me--”

“There you are!” the guy said. “We need folks for the spin the bo--”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Arch!” Jughead said sternly. He didn’t seem to be joking.

This  _ Arch  _ didn’t seemed fazed at all.  “Come on, dude! It’s just a little bit of fun. I’ll buy you burgers if you do this.”

“How many?”

“Two?”

“So it’s come to this. We’re disrespecting each other now.”

Betty stifled a giggle, which caught Arch’s attention.

His demeanor changed, and he smiled at her with that all-too-familiar gleam in his eyes. “Oh, hi there. I’m Archie--”

“I love you, Archie, but please--hands off Betty. She’s not like your other girls,” Veronica said.

Archie put his hands up in exaggerated innocence. “I ain’t doing anything!”

“I don’t think you can keep up with her, anyway,” Jughead said, plainly.

“Oh, are you a fast runner?” Archie asked her.

_ Oh, dear. He’s precious,  _ she thought, mystified, as Jughead rolled his eyes in the background.

“Athletic scholarship?” Betty asked in a near sympathetic tone.

“Football! How’d you figure?”

She shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“We’re wasting time! Let’s go!” Kevin said, dragging Betty towards the doors. Veronica hurried them even more.

Before she could think more on it, she looked over her shoulder at Jughead, who was watching them go.

_ Help!  _ she mouthed right at him.

Jughead rolled his eyes again but got up and grabbed his jacket. “Lead the way, Archie.”

_ Yes! _

Archie clapped. “That’s the spirit! Let’s go!”

 

**********

So she kind of had him at “you fucking scared me.” She didn’t say it just like that, but she was going to, and that struck him as fascinating, that she wanted to be polite, but sometimes she was too sassy for it that she would forget.

He didn’t expect that he would meet anyone like her in a place like this. Sure, it was a college town, and it was New York City, so old-movie loving, intellectual types were kind of born every minute, so that wasn’t what intrigued him about her. There was something about her that was  _ subversive.  _ Like she didn’t put everything out there. She pretended that she did, but he almost felt like she was hiding something.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he liked those Hitchcock Blondes.

Besides, when she took one look at Archie and her eyes peeled away from the redhead like she was  _ tired  _ of the likes of him, that was a feat he had never seen before. A straight woman who  _ wasn’t  _ interested in Archie?  

_ Be still, my heart. _

Plus she came to a party expecting to do homework. That was some quirky adorable shit.

So when the In Crowd came barrelling in with their stupid Spin the Bottle proposal, his irritation was real. He felt cock blocked by a lesbian, gay guy, and bro dude all at once.

And when the fair damsel turned to him for help, he’d be an idiot to turn a deaf ear.

He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to be the hero, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

Archie caught up with Betty’s group and he draped an arm over Veronica.

“Hey, Ronnie, what does Cheryl have that I don’t have?”

“Boobs,” Kevin said.

“And a vagina, I’m guessing,” Betty added.

“Oh, behave, you two,” Veronica said, giving Kevin a playful slap. “Archiekins, it’s none of that. You know I have an affection for boys as well, but you like women way too much,  _ meus lindo.  _ When I see that you can stop chasing multiple skirts at once, then we’ll talk.”

“That might take a while,” Jughead said.

“Don’t hate,” Archie pleaded. “Girls are just so  _ nice.  _ I love them. Thin, tall, fat, or small. I like them all.”

To Archie’s credit, he wasn’t lying. Jughead had seen the guy romance women of all shapes and sizes, and he treated each and everyone like a queen--until he moved on to the next girl. They gravitated towards him and he wasn’t going to resist.

Veronica led them to the main parlor where a circle was forming. Archie hurriedly took his place in that circle, sitting on the floor.

“Places, everyone!” Cheryl cried. “Kevin, Veronica, places! Betty, don’t even  _ think  _ of escaping.”

Betty gave a long suffering sigh and sank into the space Veronica was patting invitingly.

Cheryl looked him over critically. “I admit, this biker lumberjack look is doing something for me.”

He glared at her and crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “ _ Fine,  _ you hobo. Be that way.”

He sat outside of the circle slouching into a chair behind Archie. It was the only response this goddamn farce deserved.

“Ladies!” cried someone from behind him. “Your lives have already vastly improved. Reggie Mantle is in the house!”

Jughead groaned amidst the drunken cheering.

Reggie ran a hand through his dark hair and removed his sweater, showing a peek of his six pack and flexing his arms, asking the crowd if they wanted some of  _ this. _

Jughead couldn’t believe Reggie hadn’t gotten beaten up yet for being the douche at every party.

_ “Oh, shit,”  _ Reggie cried, taking the space beside Archie. “Betty Cooper! I was hoping you’d be here! You haven’t had the pleasure of this right here.” He was pointing at what appeared to be the front of his pants and she was watching him in speechless awe--or revulsion.

“Yo, that shit ain’t cool,” Archie said, hitting Reggie on the shoulder. “Quit bothering her.”

“It’s--It’s fine, Archie,” Betty said, uncertainly. “I just never--you know--believed that a guy like him  _ actually exists  _ .”

“See? She cool with it,” Reggie said, completely missing the point.  

Betty rolled her eyes in disgust.

Cheryl called for everyone to shut up. She asked for some music and Missy Elliott hip hop began to play. She had an empty Jack Daniels bottle and she proceeded to spin it. People paired off, men and women, women and women, men and men. It didn’t matter if you were straight, gay, lesbian, trans, or queer, everyone was welcome and there were no boundaries. People would kiss across the circle, and it had to look hot as they did it. If they refused, they had to take tequila shots.

Every once in awhile, Cheryl would say Back In the Closet, which basically meant the couple chosen would have to spend 5 minutes making out in the privacy of a storage room. They can ultimately fake it, but if the crowd was unconvinced that they had made out, they had to polish off multiple shots of tequila from a tray.

It was all very hedonistic, and so far, only one couple, two straight men, have opted to take shots instead of make out.

Cheryl declared the third Back in the Closet challenge, then she spun the bottle.

It turned, it slowed, and it landed. Right at Betty.

“Ah, yeah! Come to papa!” Reggie yelled jubilantly.

For Betty’s sake, Jughead hoped it wouldn’t. Then again, he supposed seeing Betty drunk would possibly be entertaining.

The bottle spun, veered, then came to a painfully slow stop right between Archie and Reggie.

Reggie laughed. “It’s destiny!”

Betty’s eyes had widened in abject horror.

“Rock paper scissors, man!” Archie cried, holding his fist at the ready.

Jughead realized that if there would ever be a time him and Archie would come to blows for a girl, this might be it.

She did not seem amused by any of this. Betty Cooper was  _ not  _ a prize to be won.

Jughead thought that this was probably around the time that he could be a hero, because the bottle was, in fact, pointing right at his combat boot.

“Actually,” Jughead said, raising his voice above the din of excitement. “I believe this one’s mine.”

The crowd fell silent, and dozens of pairs of eyes did confirm that the bottle was pointing right at his foot.

Cheers erupted, and Jughead watched cautiously for Betty’s reaction.

Her face was impassive, but as dignified as she was gorgeous, she got to her feet and turned towards the closet. He stared and found himself temporarily paralyzed.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Well, come on!”

_ And there you have it. _

Taking a deep breath, he stood, barely feeling the pat and pounding of hands on his shoulders as he followed after her.

The closet was small. Could barely fit the two of them, and as Jughead closed the door behind him, he smirked.

“I figured I at least had better conversation than Reggie.”

She tilted her gaze up at him questioningly. The space was so tiny that she had to put her hands on his chest. She was so close that he could smell her shampoo. And even in the darkness, he saw that infamous vulnerable stare that Ronnie was talking about.

_ Good, God. _

Jughead kept his hands to his side as he leaned against the wall. “So how do you want to play this out?”

She seemed to think about it for a minute. “I can’t be drunk tonight. I have a paper to write.”

“Wow, really? Still with the homework?”

She shrugged, apologetically. “I’m a huge nerd.”

He chuckled, pressing his head against the door. “Well, if you want to  _ pretend--” _

“You can’t  _ pretend  _ that. At least I can’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. “I’m all out of ideas.”

She grinned, sliding her arms up over his shoulders. He chuckled softly as her fingers began to play with his hair.  

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m just,” she shrugged. “Passing the time. What else do you like besides movies, Jughead?”

That was easy. “Food. I love food.”

“What kind?”

“All kinds, so long as it’s good. If it’s good, it belongs in my face.”

She giggled and it was an enticing sound.

“And how about you?” he asked her back. “What do you like besides homework?”

There was a glint in her eyes, the vulnerability gone and replaced with something else entirely.  “Cars. I love cars.”

He did not expect that at all. “Cars.”

“Yes, cars. I love fixing them. I love restoring them. I adore the sound of a well-oiled engine. It turns me on.”

He breathed, and he realized it was because he had been holding it. His hands itched to ride up her hips. “I like a good machine myself.”

Her eyebrow arched. “What do you drive?”

“2003 Harley, Dyna Super Glide sport with custom t-bars.”

“You’re teasing.”

He shook his head.

“You drive a motorcycle for real?”

He nodded.

_ She  _ took a deep breath, her chest rising, and let it out through her lips. “That’s hot,” she whispered, pressing closer against him.

_ Damn. _

He had to concentrate  _ very  _ hard not to react. He tried not to look at her, biting his lip to focus on the pressure of his teeth against his lips. “Do  _ you  _ have a car?”

Her eyes lowered and if he were being completely honest, they were looking at his lips. “Not to drive around here. It’s in storage.”

“But you have one?”

She giggled again, and this time, he felt the tremor go right through his body. “Of course.”

When she didn’t go on, he rolled his eyes and grinned. “Well, what is it?”

She grinned. “1969 Chevrolet Camaro Yenko sYc. Restored her myself.”

Jughead knew a thing or two about cars. Some things in his past rather ensured it, so he knew what kind of car she was talking about, and he knew it was the kind of car that had drag racers drooling. Whenever there was an argument about Japanese cars vs. Muscle cars in the drag racing circuit, this was the muscle car that made that debate a fair fight.

A chick with a retro name who restores retro cars was just the kind of gal that got his engines going. “You good with your hands, Betty Cooper?”

“Very.”

His engine may have revved a bit then, but Cheryl’s voice boomed through the door. “Two minutes, freaks! Wrap it up!”

“Ready for your tequila?” he asked, grinning.

“I told you,” she said. “I have a paper to write. So let’s make this convincing, yeah?”

Before he could say anything else, her lips had covered his and her fingers were combing through his hair. The initial shockwave of their contact sent him reeling in surprise, but then she opened her mouth and his tongue was tangling with hers immediately, and the explosion of electricity traveled from her fingertips to the roots of his scalp, coursing through his body like fire.

He gave into the earlier urge of running his hands up the sides of her body, pulling her in closer for a deeper kiss. Their groans mingled, and when he felt her leg snake up his hips, his hands hitched her up by her thighs and he pressed her up against the wall.

His lips left hers and trailed kisses down her neck and jaw. He saw a tantalizing patch of skin just beneath her collarbone and he explored it with his tongue.

She sighed and sucked a breath through her teeth. “D-Do you think,” she said, shakily, “we can “pretend” even harder?”

“We’ll try our damnedest,” he replied, roughly, capturing her mouth with his again.

He felt her tighten her legs around his hips, pressing herself more firmly against his hardness, then she took his hand and slipped it under her shirt, placing it firmly over her breast. He could feel the lace of her bra against his palm, but  _ damn  _ it felt good to hold her and drive his hips more urgently into her at the same time.  

She made a sound, like a whimper, and he wondered fleetingly if he could “pretend” to make her come, fully clothed, but Cheryl was banging on the door again, yelling that their time was up.

They pulled apart, but their heavy breathing mingled in the dark.  

“I think,” she said as she caught her breath. “We’ll be convincing enough.”

He nodded, at a loss for words.  

No doubt tousled and flushed, they came out of that closet looking more than mildly dazed and unkempt.

For certain, one look at them and the crowd went wild with cheering. He managed a small, lopsided smile, because  _ wow,  _ Betty Cooper made out with him, and if she could make him feel that way in two minutes, then he couldn’t even imagine what the rest of it would feel like. Then again, was that it, then? Did their two-minute tryst blow any chance they could’ve had at something more?

Maybe his stepping in had been a mistake. Maybe he should’ve just let her deal with Reggie and/or Archie and then tried this the usual route, like maybe asking her out and seeing where that would go?

When he sat back down at his seat behind Archie and she took her place back between Veronica and Kevin, she seemed completely unfazed by the entire thing, which Jughead thought could be a sign that this whole fantasy was over.

But then the bottle spun, and it landed on someone else, and then another person, and now everyone had completely forgotten about them, already.

She met his eyes across the circle, flashed him a secret smile, then gave him a sultry little wink.

_ And there it is. _


	2. Finding Betty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead makes up for his mistakes and he realizes that Betty changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I caved and actually tweeted a reply to @WriterRAS, confessing that I'm losing sleep over the possibility of Jughead and Toni boinking, and that I may never forgive him if they did. Let it be known that the only reason I used "boinking" was that I want to be a bit more respectful to the writer of Riverdale, and using the word "fucking" may not go over-well in that regard. 
> 
> That said, it is my hope that while my fic will delve deeper into the more serious stuff in later chapters, it is at least, for now, light and funny. 
> 
> Finally, does anyone know how I can get a profile picture up on AO3?

 

 

I torture you

Take my hand through the flames

I torture you

I'm a slave to your games

I'm just a sucker for pain

I wanna chain you up

I wanna tie you down

I'm just a sucker for pain

- _Sucker for Pain,_ by Lil Wayne, Whiz Khalifa, Imagine Dragons

 

 

A week after Cheryl Blossom’s party, Jughead was still beating himself up for never asking Betty Cooper’s number.

 

It hadn’t been for lack of trying. After the Spin the Bottle circle broke up, Veronica and Kevin whisked Betty away faster than Jughead could break through Reggie and Archie’s barrage of questions.

 

He should have fought harder to get past them, but he figured he might still be able to catch her.

 

Penthouse though it was, they were still in New York City, where a penthouse can’t be _that_ big, $30 million price tag notwithstanding.

 

But he hadn’t been paying as close attention as he thought he was. She had a _paper,_ and she had been quite clear that it was her biggest priority that evening, and so when he went looking for her and found Veronica instead, she had patiently explained to him that Betty went home to do her homework.

 

“Well, do _you_ know her number?” he had asked Veronica, desperately.

 

“Do I look like a phone directory?” Veronica had snapped back, leaving him in her dust.

 

When he found Kevin twenty minutes later and asked _him_ for Betty’s number, Kevin had laughed, pinched his cheek and said, “Aw, how sweet. I’ll let her know you were asking.”

 

Before Jughead could get another word in edgewise, Kevin got caught up in a wave of dance music and Archie was trying to drag him back to a game of beer pong. Jughead had desperately tried to get back Kevin’s attention. He wanted to give Kevin his number and beg him to pass it on to Betty.

 

On hindsight, that probably would’ve been a douchie move anyway. She had already taken the initiative in the closet. He should’ve been quicker for the follow up and not acted like a complete dweeb.

 

He looked at his phone for the time. His classes were going to start in an hour and a half.

 

Groaning, he pushed himself out of bed and padded out of his room to fix himself some coffee.

 Their three-bedroom apartment felt like a two-bedroom with a third room crowding them. The tininess of the rooms’ only saving grace being the ample closet space. That said, they only had one bathroom to share, which could get hairy, figuratively and literally, but considering they were in New York and within ten blocks of the university, it was hard to complain. Jughead often joked that if he needed more space in his room, he just had to open his closets for the deluxe mode.  

The apartment’s common room was reasonably sized, however, with a kitchen, dining area, and living room, all clearly demarcated by simple furniture and an area rug. It was a nice space, if a little snug on the bedroom space.

His sixteen year old sister Jellybean was perched on the counter, dressed and ready for school. “Good morning, bro. Coffee’s fresh in the pot.”

 

“Thank you,” he croaked. “You ready for your first quiz of the school year?”

 

“You know I am, Forsythe. And how about you? Are you ready for your elective?”

 

He sighed, thinking about his elective that had gotten set up two weeks late. It happened, sometimes, that a class wouldn’t get enough students during registration week, so the class would close even before the semester began, but there was no university elective that couldn’t be revived with a properly filed petition. His photojournalism class was one such elective. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I can teach this class, you know.”

 

“Ah, the confidence of the sophomore year. Didn’t Archie call this The Year of Abundance? What’d he mean by that?”

 

Jughead had to figure whether Jellybean was pretending she didn’t know just so she can hear him say it or whether she _really_ didn’t know. “Go ask him yourself.”  He nodded in the direction of the hallway, where Archie shambled out, groaning like a zombie.

 

“Coffee…” he moaned.  

 

“Hey, Arch! Why do you--”

 

“Coffee,” Archie repeated, casting Jellybean the evil morning eye.

 

Jughead smirked, watching Archie make his way around the kitchen, clumsily. Seeing him this way, one would never think he was a graceful athlete, or that he was a Music Major. Archie may not be quick on the uptake when it came to intelligent conversation, but the boy can put life to sound and tempo. Given that he was such a casanova, it was probably the right profession for him. It was usually when he sang with his guitar on stage that women threw themselves at him, or their underwear. It was perhaps Archie’s favorite reason for performing.

 

When Archie took his first sip of coffee, it was like a curse was lifted. He was smiling readily in a minute  and he even went back to Jellybean’s question, which he happily answered without editing himself in the least. “Oh, it’s the year sophomores get to have electives and share classes with some horny freshmen. You basically get to sleep with all sorts of beautiful women. Tides you over for the inevitable dry spells of Junior year, but I’m doing pretty well, considering.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Jughead wagged a big brotherly finger at her. “Remember this when you get to college. Don’t let the sophomores fool you. Don’t trust the juniors, either. Especially if they’re redheaded and have a guitar.”

 

Jellybean snorted.  

 

Archie grinned. “At least I get their numbers and shit.” He sipped his coffee noisily.

 

Jughead just shot him a look of pure disdain.

 

“I’m telling you,” Archie went on.  “Betty Cooper. Can’t get any fresher than that. Maybe Cheryl will throw another party and she’ll show up again. You said they’re cousins, right? Maybe ask Cheryl if she knows?”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“Is Betty Cooper smart?” Jellybean asked, in typical fashion.

 

“As a whip,” Archie said. “I’m told. Didn’t get to talk to her much. But more importantly, she’s gorgeous!”

 

Jellybean eyed him askance. “How is that more important?”

 

“It’s not,” Jughead pointed out.

 

“But it helps!” Archie added.

 

Jughead shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re going to be late, Jellybean. Go on and go to school.”

 

Jellybean nodded and hopped off the bench. She gave Jughead a kiss on the cheek and Archie a fist bump.  “Love you both!” she cried as she stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind her.

 

“Arch, are you going to let some guy talk about Jellybean the way you talk about girls?”

 

“Well, of course not! But it’s better if she knows how guys think. She’ll be one step ahead all of them.”

 

Jughead figured it was too early to think about all the fallacies that were hidden in that statement.

 

“You can’t tell me that Betty Cooper wasn’t a smoke show, bro. I know your type.”

 

Jughead scowled. “How do you know my type? I hardly date at all. If I did, it’s because you had to go doubles with a girl you wanted to go out with.”

 

“Bro, please. I saw your bedroom posters and I know who you jacked off to.”

 

“You do not know who I jacked off to.”

 

“Scarlett Johansson in _Vicky Christina Barcelona.”_

 

Jughead slammed his coffee cup down. “Who told?!”

 

Archie scoffed. “Nobody told. You had that movie queued up first on Netflix for months and you kept running out of socks.”

 

“You’re like the Sherlock Holmes of pubescent procedurals.”

 

“It’s elementary, Jones. And if you think I didn’t notice how much like Johanssen Betty looks, you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

“It’s _think._ I’ve got another _think_ coming.”

 

Archie ignored him whenever he got all Grammar Nazi and never wavered on his original point. “Man! With Betty’s sunshine blonde hair and those come-hither green eyes? It’s like she was made for you, bro.”

 

“Alright, enough. Apparently, fate is fickle. I have no way of calling her, alright? I fucked that up.”

 

“Well, have you Googled her or searched for her on Facebook?”

 

Jughead looked scandalized. “I would _never--”_

 

Archie rolled his eyes and waved his concerns away. “Screw that. Everyone does it!”

 

“Dilton Doiley does it, and we know how that turned out for him.”

 

“The guy went full-on stalker, dude. I think there’s a huge difference between Googling Betty for a few minutes and taking hundreds of pictures of Midge Klump and stealing her panties.  Look, just try it once, then never do it again. That’s acceptable. So long as you’re not creating dummy accounts, you’re fine.”

 

Jughead’s fingers began to fidget and he had to admit, Archie was making a good case for this. If he did it only once, that was normal. Companies did it for applicants all the time, right?

 

“Alright, fuck it. I’m Facebooking her.” He pulled his phone out.

 

“Rock on, dude!”

 

Jughead cracked his fingers and clicked on his Facebook app. He wrote “Betty Cooper” in the search bar and turned up a handful of results but none of them looked like the Betty he wanted. Undeterred, he typed in Elizabeth Cooper and got back a ton of results that he basically had to sift through all day.

 

He groaned. “The Facebook isn’t working!”

 

“Give me that.” Archie took Jughead’s phone and started to do the search.  It took Archie a little longer, but three minutes later, he grins and cries, “Bingo, bango!”

 

He hands the phone back to Jughead. On the screen was Betty’s beautiful smiling face. She was E.B. Cooper on Facebook.

 

Jughead could not reconcile Archie’s boneheadedness with this social media brilliance. “How’d you even know--”

 

“You’re right. I’m the Sherlock Holmes of pubescent procedurals. When it comes to looking for chicks online, I’m king. I’ve been where you’ve been countless times--didn’t get her number, just her name and face. Thank God for the internet. Well, my work is done here. Tell me all about it later, alright dude?”

 

Jughead wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He was scrolling down Betty’s profile like a an addict on crack. He didn’t want to read _too much_ information. That felt stalkerish as hell, but he was skimming for anything that may be relevant to locating her.

 

He briefly considered sending her a message, but then she’d know he’d searched her and--

 

_Bad idea._

 

And then his eyes landed on her Education profile. It said Columbia. She went to Columbia. All week they could’ve been passing each other in the hallways and he had missed her the entire time.

 

She was a journalism major. He knew that. And she was a freshman. She had to be, or else he would’ve known her already, which probably meant she was taking one of the two Photojournalism classes on campus.  

 

She could quite possibly be in his class. The thought of it made him jittery. If she was in the same class, this would mean fate had thrown them together after all.

 

**************

 

She wasn’t in his Photojournalism class, which meant fate had fucked him over twice now.

 

The good news was, because he had waffled on this elective, he knew what time the other class was and she had to be there. She had to. It was for late morning, 11:30.  He had an hour and a half to make this look absolutely like he _wasn’t_ stalking her like a crazy person.

 

_This is all Archie’s fault. He turned me into this._

 

Jughead made a beeline for the administration building, hoping he could talk to someone who can help him change his schedule.  This wasn’t an extraordinary request. Students asked to be rescheduled all the time.  This was going to be a breeze.

 

When he arrived at the office, he found that the person manning the rescheduling beat was none other than Kevin Keller, Betty’s bestie.

 

“Morning,” Jughead said as he came up to the counter.

 

Kevin gasped, then smiled. _“Forsythe!”_

 

The loud sigh that escaped Jughead was long and rumbling. “You looked me up.”

 

“Of course I did! What good is this power I have if I don’t abuse it?”

 

Jughead leaned over and lowered his voice. “By any chance, did you look me up because _she_ asked you--”

 

Kevin snorted. “Please. She’s Betty Cooper. She’s Queen. And if she did ask me, I wouldn’t tell you.”

 

“Right.” Which made Jughead wonder whether Kevin would do this little favor for him. “So I’m in a bind. With scheduling.”

 

“You’re in luck because rescheduling is my specialty. What’s the class?”

 

“Photojournalism 101. I need to go from the 9AM class to the 11:30 class.”

 

Kevin was tapping away at his computer and for a moment, Jughead thought he could get away with this, but then Kevin’s fingers started to slow over the keyboard and a shit-eating smile started to form on his lips.

 

“Oh,” Kevin breathed. “Oh, I see it now.”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes and sighed. _So close._

 

“You want to be in Betty’s class.”

 

“Oh, is Betty in that class? I didn’t--”

 

“Eat turd, Forsythe. Why do you lie to me?”

 

“Listen,” Jughead said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “I just need to be on a different schedule and that’s literally what you’ve been assigned to do this time of the year. Can’t you just--like, do your job?”

 

Big mistake. He could see the evil delight in Kevin’s eyes, and it was determined to make this more difficult. “Oh, I’ll do my job, Jughead. I will put you on that 11:30 class, no problem. What you need to worry about now is how I’m going to shut my trap and _not_ tell Betty that you asked to be transferred so you can creep on her.”

 

“I am not--!” Jughead cried, then realizing he had raised his voice, he lowered it again. “I am not creeping on her.  If you and Veronica hadn’t conspired to keep her phone number from me, this wouldn’t be a situation.”

 

“You’re so quaint, Jughead Jones!” Kevin said, giggling. “Didn’t you try to find her on Facebook or something?”

 

Jughead fidgeted uneasily. “I did, but I didn’t want to _message_ her. It seems so-- _so--”_

 

“Modern?”

 

“I was going to say it feels like something guys who just want to _hook up_ do.”

 

Kevin flashed him a look. “You mean like Tinder?”

 

“Yes, exactly!”

 

“But that’s the point, _idiot_. Tinder is there for that. Facebook is completely different. If you’re not contacting her on Tinder, then it’s not evidently just a hookup. I swear, what century did you last date in?”

 

Jughead could feel the heat creeping up his face. He hadn’t asked a woman on a date in forever. Maybe the last time was when he was in his early teens.

 

Kevin sighed, completely giving up on him. “Ima let Betty handle you on that one, so let’s get back to the original point. What’s in it for me?”

 

Jughead dropped his head between his shoulders in defeat. “I have nothing to give you. I don’t have disposable income lying around. Pound of flesh, maybe?”

 

“I don’t need cash. I trade in favors.”

 

“Well, what do you need that you think I can give you?”

 

“What’s your major?”

 

“Creative writing.”

 

“Ugh, that does nothing for me.  Give me a second to think about this…”

 

“So long as it isn’t illegal…”

 

“Nothing like that. My father’s a cop and I’m an aspiring law student. There’s nothing illegal that I don’t know how to get myself.”

 

“Not the reasoning I was expecting, but okay.”

 

“Say, you’re pals with Archie Andrews, aren’t you?”

 

Jughead eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, why?”

 

“He’s on the football team and he’s probably friends with Moose Mason.”

 

Jughead knew Moose. It was a hard name to forget.  “Yeah, he’s friends with Moose.”

 

“I want to be introduced.”

 

“I don’t know if--”

 

“He’s bi. And don’t say he couldn’t be.”

 

Jughead sighed. “I wasn’t going to. That’s fine. I’ll get Archie to arrange a meet-cute with you and Moose, easy. Are we cool, then?”

 

Kevin nodded. “That’ll do for now.”  

 

Jughead scowled. “For _now?_ That’s just some sinister shit, Kevin!”

 

“Blow me, Jones. You said so yourself, it was _easy._ Betty is _not_ easy. Imma think up something harder for you to do.”

 

“You want me to sign that in blood?”

 

Kevin gave him a malevolent grin but said nothing. “Now let’s see what we have here. I’m guessing you want the teacher to call you Jughead?”

 

“Yeah, if you can?”

 

“Oops! I accidentally put Forsythe. Sorry!”

 

Jughead glared at him.  “You are so evil.”

 

Kevin fluttered his eyelashes, sighed, and smiled. “Why, thank you. I try.”

 

***************

 

When Jughead walked into Photojournalism class a second time, the professor recognized him and chatted with him briefly about liking his class so much, Jughead went twice in a day.

 

“Rescheduled,” Jughead said by way of explanation. “And I wanted to--er, partner up with someone in this class for that project you mentioned. I mean, no one in particular, just--anyone, really.”

 

The professor shrugged and gestured to the auditorium. “Well, take a seat. We’ll start in a few minutes.”

 

Jughead nodded and looked around. He hadn’t seen Betty when he first walked in, so he was hoping she walked in while his back was turned. She hadn’t.

 

Sighing, he took a seat next to a dude who seemed preoccupied with the classroom door, as well.  

 

Classes began and _still_ Betty hadn’t arrived. Jughead was beginning to wonder if Kevin had screwed him over just for fun.

 

But two minutes into the lecture the door opened and there she was. Betty hurriedly, and as quietly as she could, slipped into one of the seats in the back.  Her oversized sweater was black, but there was an angry unicorn head stenciled on it in the front. The blouse peeking from the sweater's collar and sleeves gave her that preppy vibe she had, but her torn skinny jeans and leather boots was so punk, it was the whole reason Jughead wondered how no one could see there was more to Betty Cooper’s prim and proper demeanor.

 

 _“Yes,”_ Jughead’s seatmate whispered under his breath, which caused Jughead to watch him suspiciously. The guy was glancing up at Betty, probably hoping to catch her eye, because of course Jughead wasn’t the only dude around this place who has noticed Betty Cooper.

 

Jughead thought of his options and figured he’d already screwed up once and let a couple of jocks get in the way of his goals. Judging by this other guy’s clothing--jersey, athletic pants, and high tops, he was another sports guy.

 

So when the professor said that for their semester project, they could either work alone or partner off, Jughead was ruthlessly determined.

 

He knew that his seatmate, whom he’d learned was named Trev, was already aiming to partner up with Betty, and he was a nice guy, which was probably way more threatening than if he had acted like Reggie. This was a guy Betty could like, so Jughead wasn’t taking any chances.

 

As he got up from his seat, he “accidentally” knocked over Trev’s things from his desk. “Aw, sorry man. So sorry.” _Not sorry._ Then he turned and headed straight for Betty, unashamed and completely unapologetic.

 

“Hi, Betts,” he said, sliding into the seat next to hers. The nickname just came out of him, so flustered was he by his deceit and mayhem towards Trev. He had never been so conniving in his life--at least not for a girl. But as he’s learning quickly, Betty Cooper can make him _do things_.

 

She grinned, looking mildly surprised but as gorgeous as the first day he met her. “Forsythe! I wasn’t sure if it was you!”

 

He felt his face warming at his given name, the name the teacher called him in class, thanks to Kevin. “Yeah. It’s me. Was hoping no one would have to know my real name.”

 

“It’s an interesting name,” she said, propping her chin up with her hand. “Sounds like a name that gets handed down through generations of bankers, or something.”

 

“Well,” he began reluctantly. “I’m the third, so yeah, it’s generational, but no, my father’s no banker. Don’t think pappy was, either.”

 

She seemed to find this amusing, which was a good sign. “And how did you end up with Jughead?”

 

“It’s not a very interesting story.”

 

Her eyebrow arched, but she didn’t push..

 

“So, this project,” Jughead began. “Want to partner up? I could use your perspective.”

 

She eyed him intently. “How’d you end up in this class? I’m pretty sure you’re not a journalism major.”

 

“Creative writing major and I needed an elective. Photography’s one of my hobbies anyway and I figured this would be fun,” he replied, truthfully. “So how about it? I can learn something from you and _maybe_ you learn something from me?”

 

“Sounds good, Jones,” she replied with a tilt of her shoulder. “Got any good ideas? You’re a writer. What did you envision us covering?”

 

He grinned and closed his eyes. “Let’s see. I’m thinking a caper of some sort. Some chase through exotic lands and hopping on and off different transatlantic means of transportation. We’ll photograph spies and barons. Recover some priceless treasure from a soupy jungle. Then we come home and fall madly in love.”

 

She laughed and it was an amazing sound.  “I like your train of thought. We may have to economize a little, because unlike my rich relations, we are not rolling in money, and I actually have a job most afternoons.”

 

“Oh? Where at?”

 

“Riveter Auto Repair.”

 

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you fix motorcycles?”

 

“We fix them all,” she said, grinning. “Come on over and I’ll get you a special discount.”

 

He tried not to think too much about what “special” entailed. “Okay, so no afternoon meetings. Evenings, then?”

 

She nodded. “Works for me! We’ll throw some ideas together. Something out of the ordinary, hopefully. Hard hitting, if possible.”

 

He liked that she didn’t mess around.  “How about we think about it after this class? Unless you have another class to run to...”

 

“Not until 4, actually. And I like that idea. We can have lunch and maybe inspiration will strike.”

 

“Lunch is great,” he said, warming to the idea even more. “Care to venture out of the city for a bit? There’s a great taqueria in Jersey City…”

 

She smiled and closed her eyes. “Mmm, tacos sound divine. Quick train to--”

 

“Wanna live a little?” He shot her a smirk, his eyebrow arching. “I’ve got a ride.”

 

Her eyes sparkled and her breath hitched. “Why Jughead, are you asking me to ride your motorcycle?”

 

“Only if you want to.”

 

She clapped her hands once and nodded vigorously. “Yes! Absolutely! But I have to be back here by 4.”

 

“We’ll be back here by 4,” he promised, magnanimously. He was feeling particularly elated. He didn’t bumble nearly as badly as he thought he would. Unlike Archie, he was no ladies man, but Betty was so easy to talk to that he didn’t have to worry about being too much like himself.

 

The class wound down and the professor called out reading assignments as they all filed out. Jughead walked out with Betty, telling her that he always had a spare helmet and jacket handy for his sister.

 

“You’re about the same size as Jellybean.”

 

“Jellybean,” she said, disbelieving.

 

“Her real name is Forsythia.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Dad was singular in his goals.”

 

“Hey, Betty!” came a voice from behind them.

 

Jughead turned and saw his seatmate, Trev, approaching them.

 

She put her hand on Jughead’s arm gently, as if to tell him to hold a second. She smiled brightly as Trev approached. “Hi Trev! What’s up?”

 

Trev shrugged casually. “Oh, nothing. Just wanted to make sure we were still on for dinner tonight.”

 

“Of course! 7, right?”

 

“Yep, looking forward to it! See you then!”

 

Jughead glared at him and Trev gave him the finger when Betty’s back was turned, making it clear that Trev knew exactly what Jughead had done in class.  

 

So this was a little bit of a problem. “So...” he asked awkwardly. “You have a date? First? Tenth?”

 

She eyed him for a moment and he felt his face warm under her scrutiny.

 

“Not that that’s any of my business…” he muttered, looking away.

 

Stifling a smile, she shrugged. “He asked me out last night, so this is a first date.  Why do you ask?”

 

“No particular reason. Just curious.” His face felt like lava.  

 

She eyed him for a few seconds and he rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he should say something. Anything.

 

She spoke first. “When you didn’t contact me, I thought, well--”

 

“I couldn’t get your number,” he interrupted awkwardly.

 

She pursed her lips. “You could’ve messaged me on Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram.”

 

“But that seemed weird, though,” he said, instantly, but seeing the look on her face, he went on, the conviction waning. “And it’s only recently that I learned that was a thing people did. Like, commonly.” He sighed. “Dating these days…”

 

At least the corners of her lips started twitching upward. “Jughead Jones… just how old fashioned are you?”

 

“I have the Facebook,” he said in an even tone. “And I tweet and Instagram just like any Millennial,” he sighed a little. “But I keep to myself a lot.”

 

Man, did he screw this up.

 

“I’m getting that,” she replied, but she looped her arm around his affectionately. “But you _are_ taking me on your motorcycle, so maybe I’ll forgive you.”

 

That made him feel a little more hopeful. “Do I get credit each time I let you ride the bike?”

 

“No. You’ll have to think of something else to get points for.”

 

He wasn’t going to assume she was kidding, but then she slapped his arm with the back of her hand.

 

“I’m kidding, Jug. God, I don’t play mind games like that!”

 

He shrugged. “I screwed up once already! I was playing it safe!”

 

She eyed him askance, grinning. “You don’t strike me as someone who plays it safe on a regular basis, honestly.”

 

He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “Eh, certain dangerous habits I’ve had, I left in the past. I’m over them.”

 

When he didn’t go on, she looked him in the eyes and asked, “Are you going to hit me with ‘It’s not a very interesting story,’ again?”

 

He cocked an apologetic smile. “This one’s… a story for another day.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Are you just trying to keep me interested, Jughead Jones?”

 

Laughing quietly, he shook his head. “That was not my intention, but if it does keep you interested, then yeah, why not?”

 

“Maybe I can get it out of you at lunch.”

 

“If I’m properly inebriated, maybe?”

 

Giggling, she gave him a somewhat serious stare. “That’s not how I do things. If I want you to trust me, I want it to be real.”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, chuckling softly. “That would be ideal.”

 

******************

 

The trip out of the city and into Jersey took longer on the New York side than it did in the Jersey side. Going all the way from the mid-100s down to the Holland Tunnel, even in highway 9A, always ate up time, but Jughead liked the feel of her holding on to him on the bike. He liked talking to her over his shoulder through their helmets and then hearing her respond. It felt intimate and friendly, two things that he never realized he could be, considering he tended to keep people at a distance and he was more commonly a grouch.

 

It was already decided, however, that Betty could make him do things he wouldn’t normally do. From saving her from the horrible fate that was Reggie Mantle to making out in a storage closet to changing his class schedules, making deals with a gay devil, and making enemies because, _of course,_ he had to fight for her attention.

 

_What next? Tell her all about my shady past?_

 

He didn’t think it all that far fetched, since he did feel like he could tell her things and she wouldn’t scare so easily.

 

As she put away the helmet and jacket, she seemed to remember something.

 

“So you have a sister. Does she live with you?” she asked.

 

He nodded. “And Archie. He’s like our brother. I know it’s hard to believe, but for all of Archie’s faults, he is an amazing friend.”

 

She grinned. “I see it. He seemed like a nice guy, telling Reggie off. I appreciated that, even if it completely sailed over Reggie’s head.”

 

“Yeah, I thought the likes of Reggie was a myth.”

 

“He’s unbelievably dense.”

 

He smirked. “That’s one way of putting it.”

 

“And your sister, is she in college too?”

 

“High school junior. She’s got a ways to go.”

 

She nodded, and by the look in her face, he could tell that she was wondering why his minor sister was living with him and not with his parents. But she didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I lived with my big brother too, for a few years. I only moved out of his place when I went to college. My older sister, Polly, still lives with him. She’s going to the community college.”

 

He arched his eyebrow. “So your brother took you in when you were--?”

 

“Sixteen. Polly was seventeen. Chic’s, like, nine years older than me.  He’s also a big bad FBI agent.”

 

Jughead’s mouth dropped. “You’re kidding.”

 

“Absolutely not. I still see him often since there’s an FBI office in New York, but he’s sent on assignment a lot, so he doesn’t have to be in the city everyday.”

 

“Wow. And your parents? What happened to them?” Jughead assumed they had passed, because why else would their elder brother take them in?

 

She paused and shrugged. “Still where we left them, I suppose.”

 

So they weren’t dead, but Betty and her sister did not want to live with them, and her brother Chic took them in like a champ. She volunteered no further information, however, and he wasn’t going to pry.

 

“Seems like we have a lot of things on common, Juggie,” she said plainly, with a dimpled smile.  

 

He noted the nickname and realized that he liked it immensely.  At least coming from her.

 

All this before the tacos had been ordered. When they did place their orders and got their tacos, they sat down to eat, and Jughead pointed out that if they ever decide to do a fluff piece, it better be on food.

 

“There are tons of food festivals coming up,” Jughead said. “The Vendy’s are coming up, then Oktoberfest, the Great Big Bacon Picnic, Pig Island, the New York Coffee Festival, and if you’re a vegetarian, the Harvest in the Square, though personally, I can skip that.”

 

“Not a fan of vegetables?” She picked a cactus off her plate and ate it, as if to make a point.

 

“It wouldn’t be my choice of a last meal, I’ll tell you that.”

 

She had some of her tacos and she sighed happily. She made more sounds of appreciation, which Jughead enjoyed hearing, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

 

“God, that’s good,” she said, shaking her head.

 

Jughead nodded. “I always come here because the motorcycle makes traffic easier to get through. Also, I can eat ten of these, easy.”

 

She frowned. “How do you keep so--I dunno, fit?”

 

He shrugged, chuckling. “Archie forces me to run with him sometimes, which I mostly do to shut him up, and the laundry room at our apartment building has a gym next to it, so yeah, I guess sometimes I work out there while I’m waiting for my laundry, but sometimes I help Archie’s dad out with his projects. Pays well _and_ gives me an extra workout.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Construction.”

 

She didn’t look too surprised. “That explains it.”

 

“Explains what?”

 

She purses her lips to keep from smiling, but she looks at him shyly and says, “The flannel.”

 

“The flannel?” He chuckled. “I’ve been wearing flannel since I was a kid.”

 

“You look comfortable in it.” She ate half of her second taco and put it down. “Well, I can’t have more than three of these. I have to work everything off and pay for it in change. I run a few miles every morning. Sometimes I go on the track, but I hate it when the football team’s there. They get all,” she paused and shrugged. “ _Watchy.”_

 

“I bet,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing. Maybe because he knew Archie was on there and as his de facto brother, Jughead felt the need to do so. Or maybe he was apologizing for the male species, because he’d seen a thing or two working construction.

 

An amused grin spread on her face. “It’s not your fault. Have you ever catcalled a lady when you were working?”

 

He scowled. “Of course not. All the years in construction and not a single woman has turned around and said, ‘Hey, boys! I love it! Keep objectifying me!’ They’re always hurrying to get away. Absolutely _none_ of them like it.”

 

“I’ve been waiting years for a man to say that.”

 

He reddened. “Yeah, well…”

 

She moved her seat closer to him, and their knees touched under the table, her skin and his through the stylized tears in their respective jeans. He ate a total of nine tacos thinking about that small bit of contact the entire time. On some level, it was a waste of good taco, but on another level, that connection of skin to skin felt better than 9 delicious tacos on his tastebuds. Even when she asked him pointers on how to work a camera and he replied with authority, he was still ever conscious of her skin warming that tiny spot on his.

 

He generally did not have a problem with his urges. Scarlett Johansson had definitely inspired his puberty, but she was really the _only_ one to do that, and once that phase was over, it hadn’t returned. Not with anyone. Physical need was never a Jughead Jones priority. When Archie and the rest of his bro dude friends complained about dry spells and such, Jughead just shrugged it off as his normal. While he’d _had_ sexual encounters in the past, they were hardly meaningful, definitely not frequent for a guy his age, and that fact never really bothered him.  Generally, sex was a not a pervasive thought in his brain.

 

But, _oh God,_ Betty is changing everything.

 

He had to swallow the lump in his throat or breathe through his nose to calm his body, being this near to her. He felt like an instrument that she could play with a single press of his keys or the drawing of her bow.

 

When she leaned over and started making idle circles on the back of his hand, talking about the gorgeous car that passed them by, she was drawing electricity on his skin. He didn’t think she even knew she was doing that. Talking about automotives seemed to do that to her.

 

He got the fascination with cars. He dug it, but it was wreaking havoc on his hormones when he watched her talk.

 

“I do love working on Japanese cars. They are so clever. Marvels of engineering, really. Such lithe, light bodies wrapped around some hi-tech, ultra modern engines. Powerful as hell. I’d like to customize one for myself someday, but the American muscle car--” She took a deep breath. “They are super sexy. And if you know your shit, the right car can keep up with the Japanese hot shots.”

 

“That’s why you have the Camaro,” he replied, quietly. “You know your shit.”

 

She smiled, and it was a different kind of smile. Not her playful, peppy one. This was sultry, her eyes taking on a darker sheen. “And how do you know so much about cars, Juggie?”

 

“I just do,” he said, looking away. “I was--with a crowd that liked them exceedingly--once.”

 

Her eyebrow quirked. “Did you drive them?”

 

He tilted his shoulder noncommittally, but he replied. “I did.”

 

“Fast?”

 

“Very fast.”

 

She just looked at him, then, and when he tried to decipher what her look meant, he saw a deep interest. A kind of examination, like she was picking him apart.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“I’m just thinking,” she said softly. “That I’m so glad I walked into that library last week.”

 

*****************

 

Honestly, kissing her at that moment would have been perfect, but the intimacy broke when a bunch of kids started screaming in the next table. She had laughed, looked at her watch, and told him they needed to get back if she was going to make her next class.  

 

So he dropped her off at the university campus and he headed back to his apartment where Archie was attempting to write a paper on his laptop and Jellybean was in her room, playing loud music.

 

“Jug!” Archie cried, always eager for a distraction. “How was school today?”

 

“Fantastic.”  Though he had said this with his usual deadpan voice, he realized he never used words like that, and Archie, who knew him like no one else, picked up on it immediately.

 

“Dude, you’re practically glowing. Did someone fuck you or something?”

 

Jughead shot Archie a scolding look. “Watch it with that language when Jellybean’s here.”

 

“Oh, please. Her music’s a bazillion decibels right now. She isn’t hearing a thing. So _did_ someone fuck you?”

 

“No!” Jughead sighed, taking a seat at the counter and plopping his school bag on the counter top. “But you’ll be proud of what I did today.”

 

So he told Archie about getting into Betty’s class, and about Trev, and about Jersey City and tacos. He didn’t tell Archie about Betty and cars, though. He felt that was something just for him.

 

Archie had zeroed in on a couple of other things, anyway. “Dude, you cockblocked Trev Brown?” he screamed with laughter. “You know he’s my teammate, right? I gotta bust him on this. Hilarious!”

 

“Not so fast. He’s going on a date with Betty, later. Maybe ask him about how that went first.”

 

Archie seemed to think this was even funnier. “Oh, I love this. You, Trev, Reggie--man, I don’t blame you guys--”

 

“Wait, wait,” Jughead interjected. “I’m insulted that you think Reggie is on our level. She hates him. He’s a non-entity.”

 

“That may be true, but Reggie took the class, just like you and Trev did, to get closer to Betty.”

 

“What? I didn’t see him there.”

 

Archie shrugged. “So he missed the first class. Probably forgot it, or something. But he’ll show up one of these days, and he’ll cockblock you both, I promise you. While you and Trev have gentleman duels, Reggie doesn’t care about the rules and he’ll just barrel through like the jerk he is.”

 

“Sonofabitch.”

 

“That’s what you get when you set your sights on a babe, my friend. It’s a constant struggle.”

 

Jughead frowned. “It shouldn’t have to be. If she likes me, she likes me. I can’t force her. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

 

Archie shrugged. “Maybe. Betty seems like a nice girl, but she’s young and gorgeous and you two aren’t in love. Everyone likes to have a bit of fun and Trev’s a fun dude.”

 

“He is?”

 

“Super fun. He’s, like, my favorite guy after you.”

 

“Really, Arch? Are you that easy?”

 

“Hey, don’t be jealous. You’ll always be my main man.”

 

Jughead made a sound of disgust as he took out his phone and checked Betty’s number. He had it now. Memorized it. He was determined not to get stonewalled again. He considered sending her a text.

 

He started to type.

 

**_Had fun this afternoon. When’s our next inspiration meeting?_ **

 

The bubble showed up immediately. And she replied. **_How’s tomorrow afternoon for you? Meet you at the shop? Maybe give that gorgeous bike of yours a check up._ **

 

The thought of watching Bettty work on a motorcycle was the stuff of fantasies. **_Sounds like a plan._ **

 

**_Good! See you at the shop at 2._ **

 

She followed it up with the shop’s contact info.

 

“So Betty’s going to tinker with my motorcycle,” Jughead said, grinning.

 

Archie raised his arms celebratorily. _“My man!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bughead fics are the only reason I haven't lost my mind yet.


	3. Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a bit more insight into Betty's brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've basically been living off a diet of sugar and Bughead fics.

 

 

Sometimes you gotta bleed to know

That you’re alive and have a soul

But it takes someone to come around

To show you how

She’s the tear in my heart

I’m alive

She’s the tear in my heart

I’m on fire

She’s the tear in my heart

Take me higher

Than I’ve ever been

\-- _Tear in my Heart,_ by Twenty One Pilots

 

Betty looked into the mirror and checked to see if she had any grease stains on her face. It wasn’t the worse thing to have when you worked as a mechanic, but she was Betty Cooper: the gal who always had it together and is good at everything.

 

Not that she really liked that impression, but old habits were hard to break, especially if that condition was burned into her soul the way her mother did it.

 

Her blue mechanic’s jumpsuit was folded up to her shoulders, as it tended to get hot in the shop, but she wore a pink baby tee inside, just to prevent any peek-a-boo wardrobe malfunctions. Her arm tattoo of the Cheshire Cat From Alice in Wonderland was bare to see, its fluffy tail snaking around her bicep. Floating around the cat were the words, “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.” She got the tattoo at graduation as a present, with Chic footing the bill, and she never regretted it.

 

She pulled at her ponytail and touched up her lipstick.

 

“Expecting someone?” Ethel Merman asked. She was a sweet girl who liked to wear dresses and flowery headbands. She was the garage’s admin, processing papers for their customers and helping the owner organize the documentation needed to run the place.

 

Betty shrugged, checking her silhouette and backside in the mirror. “Just a classmate. We’re working on a project together.”

 

“Well, go easy on him, gorgeous. We don’t want him to grovel at your feet.” Ethel giggled, then she turned to the garage floor. “Hey, ladies! Betty’s bringing a boy to the garage!”

 

Batty gasped, laughing. “Ethel!”

 

Sabrina, a platinum blonde goth-influenced woman who had tattoos all over her arms and neck, hooted. “Fresh meat!”

 

“Ooh! Should we sage the place? Get the cooties out of the woodwork?” cried , Sabrina’s aunt and co-owner of the shop. She was working on a car engine and she had some grease on her nose, which was a sight Betty adored, after all.

 

Zelda Spellman, Hilda’s sister and owner, peeked out of the office. “Alright, witches! Settle down! It’s just a boy! Betty, is he house trained?”

 

Laughter erupted and Betty planted her hands on her hips. “You guys better behave when he gets here!”

 

“Oh, we’ll behave,” Hilda said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Right girls?”

 

“We’ll be angels!” Sabrina promised grandiosely.

 

Betty rolled her eyes, grinning. She slid out her tool cabby and started rearranging her tools.

 

Jughead would be arriving any minute now, so she checked her nails and was satisfied that it was grease free.

 

She felt a small thrill go through her, having admitted a few things to herself last night.

 

While on her date with Trev, who was an extremely nice guy, she had found her mind wandering to the many moments with Jughead that intrigued her to distraction.

 

For starters, there was his name. What was the story with that? He said it wasn’t very interesting, and perhaps she could believe that, but that was just part of the whole enigma that was Jughead Jones. What really intrigued her was his mysterious involvement with cars, or the part about his “dangerous habits,” which he did not seem eager to talk about. She recognized that he had a past that he wanted to keep on the down low, and she respected his privacy, but she felt that it was such an integral part of his personality that she couldn’t help but _need_ to know, because she really, really liked him.

 

He was funny, smart, handsome, and mysterious, but above all else, he apparently had a heart of gold. That he took in his sister, clearly a minor, to care for her for some unknown reason pulled drastically at her heartstrings, because she knew what it was like to need someone to take care of her, to have a big brother she could rely on to be strong and steady. If Jughead was half as great a brother as Chic was to her, then he had to be a pretty amazing guy.

 

Unfortunately for Trev, all this meant she wasn’t going out with him again. At least not in the foreseeable future.

 

Fortunately for Jughead, she was more than willing to give him another chance.

 

When Kevin and Veronica had told her that Jughead had searched for her all night at Cheryl’s party after she had left it, she had felt giddy at the thought that she had left a positive impression.  She had spent all week regretting the fact that she hadn’t given him her number, but she figured that in this age of social media, he could very well find her if he wanted to.

 

She could’ve probably done it herself--find him and message him herself, but her mind was a complicated mix of desires and doubts. Grappling with her mental contradictions still left her exhausted and unsure, one way or another.

 

So perhaps in a moment of impulse, most assuredly self-doubt if she were being honest with herself, she thought perhaps she’d give Jughead the chance to contact her first. After all, she’d practically made the first move in that closet. Shouldn’t she, perhaps, play a little hard to get? Just a little. Lest he thought her _too_ easy.

 

She realized now that that had been her mother’s voice in her head. That ever present voice that she was yet to shake off with more hours of therapy.

 

In the meantime, she held off on reaching out to Jughead.  By the time the third day came around, doubts had suffused her brain. The radio silence from Jughead probably meant he’d slept on it and decided he didn’t like her that way after all.  

 

On day four, her doubts had taken over her life, and just when she thought that maybe, _maybe_ she should just message him and get it all over with, she was too far gone in her downward spiral that she had lost her nerve.  

 

She was pretty much convinced that he would be nothing but a pleasant memory, at best.

 

There was always the chance that Jughead was some kind of Romeo who did this sort of thing to girls all the time, and that she was just another conquest in his collection, because she found Jughead to be extremely sexy, and there was no way nobody else had noticed. So at worst, he could have been blabbing about getting to first base with Betty Cooper all around campus.

 

She remembered Kevin asking her if she was okay, and of course she had said she was, that perhaps Jughead had just changed his mind. Kevin asked her gently and jokingly, if she wanted to stalk him on Facebook.  Betty had forced a laugh, shook her head, and said, “God, wouldn’t _that_ seem desperate?”

 

Her defenses had always been quite iron tight. Her insecurities had cloaked themselves in cold armor, forged by years under the yolk of her mother’s emotional abuse, so she had made herself immovable at that point.

 

It wasn’t the smartest thing she’d done, but she had convinced herself of his indifference so well that by the time Trev asked her out, she was ready to reset.

 

When she recognized Jughead at Photojournalism 101, she hardly listened to the first half of class. She spent most of that time basically calming her anxieties down. She wondered first what he was doing there, then had that mental conversation with herself about her mother, her therapy, and about _not obsessing_ about everything.

 

She still had herself convinced that Jughead just _happened_ to be in her Photojournalism class, so she texted Kevin, telling him about Jughead being there, and Kevin had texted back;

 

**_Omg, gurl, he asked me to transfer him there from the other block._ **

 

 **_What, really?_ ** She was trying her hardest not to seem conspicuous. She didn’t want her professor catching her texting on the first day.

 

**_Got a favor from it, too. You know I like to abuse my powers._ **

 

She had to stop herself from giggling then, the effect of Kevin’s words beginning to dispel her mother’s voice in her head.

 

**_He was, like, desperate, the poor thing. And kind of an old fashioned Romeo. I don’t think he thinks social media is an appropriate means of communication. He thinks you only use it to hook up with someone. How adorable! He thinks you’re more than just a hookup!_ **

 

**_What are you trying to say, Kevin?_ **

 

**_Bitch, you would have fucked him that night if you didn’t have that paper to submit._ **

 

**_I wouldn’t have!_ **

 

**_Oh, please. You called him a sexy beast. You totally would’ve._ **

 

She tried to think of a clever comeback but she pretty much came up short. She was never a good liar, face-to-face or by text.

 

Kevin followed it up with: **_I never would’ve traded sex with a guy like that for homework. You are such a nerd._ **

 

**_I hate you._ **

 

He was completely unbothered by her words. **_I promised him I wouldn’t tell you, but whatever. They all ask me to do it for *someone*. By the way, Trev and Reggie asked to be transferred, too._ **

 

Betty grimaced. **_Reggie?_ **

 

**_Yeah. Don’t sleep with him._ **

 

**_I wouldn’t sleep with him if the last vibrator in an apocalyptic world gone of men died on me._ **

 

By the time Jughead had asked to be partnered with her, she had won her War Against Alice Cooper’s Voice (with Kevin’s help). And as always, she had promised herself never to listen to it again. It was a promise she was getting better at keeping for longer periods of time.  This was why diet, exercise, anxiety pills, and birth control pills were kind of her lifeline. And having her facetime sessions with her therapist on Thursdays. She loved modern technology.

 

It was times like these when she could look back and tell herself that it was much ado about nothing, because now they were making plans with one another, which excited her more than she was willing to admit to anyone. Then again, hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

 

She took one last glance at the mirror and smoothed the pad of her finger against her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. When she heard the rumble of his motorcycle beyond the garage doors, she grabbed a clean rag and turned to welcome him.

 

He rolled in carefully, helmet and all. As soon as he got his bike into the huge garage, he shut off his engine and started to remove his helmet and glasses.

 

“Hi, Juggie!” she cried, trying her best not to be completely stymied at how handsome he was. That thick black hair and his blue eyes were quite frankly devastating. She bounded up to him and took his helmet from his hands to assist. “Did you have trouble finding the place?”

 

A dark curl fell over his eye and he pushed it back, running his gloved hand through his hair. He cocked a smile and shook his head. “No, it was easy. I hit on some traffic, but it wouldn’t be New York if I didn’t.” He gave her a quick look. “You look awesome, Betts.”

 

 _You don’t look too bad yourself._ His jeans were a little different. They were still black, but they had a more roughed up look, and they looked like they fit him even better than the ones he wore to class. His combat boots looked newly polished. He still wore a wifebeater, and he still had on flannel, but his flannel was black, this time. Dark colors suited him so damn well.

 

She smiled at his compliment. “It’s comfortable.”

 

He tapped a finger on her tattoo. “This is great. I didn’t know you had one.”

 

His touch was electric and she tried her hardest not to react embarrassingly to it. She smoothed her finger over the Cheshire Cat’s face. “It was a graduation gift from my brother. He thought it suited me because I liked to escape into my own mad worlds.”

 

That was probably more than she had been planning to say, but the words had escaped her, unbidden.

 

He smirked. “Any other tattoos I should know about?”

 

She giggled softly. “It’s the only one I have so far. Do _you_ have any tattoos?”

 

Giving a half shrug, his answer was slow to come. She thought he was going to stonewall her again. He kept his stories so close to him, but then he replied. “Well, yeah. I have them.”

 

“More than one?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Care to show me at least one of them?”

 

He chuckled softly.  “Fair’s fair.” He shrugged off his coat and started to unbutton his flannel.

 

This should not have excited her so much, the prospect of seeing his body, but it did, and she _knew_ the other ladies were probably watching him, too.  The flannel came off, and she saw his fantastic arms, and she prayed, to whatever God above, that he take his entire wife beater off. He didn’t, but he did tug down the right strap to show the tattoo on his pec. It was a little bigger than the size of her palm, and it was the image of the monster from _Where the Wild Things Are,_ resting happily with the costumed boy in the story. The boy looked sad and lonely. Artfully written were the words “And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.”

 

She stopped herself from asking him if he was Max and resisted the urge to reach up and touch it. “Well, aren’t we kindred?” she said, instead. “We both of us have literary tattoos.”

 

He nodded, grinning. He began to redress, which she thought was regrettable. “We do. I have a couple more but they’re not for public viewing.” He shot her a completely _un_ embarrassed stare.

 

She hoped he didn’t catch the goosebumps that rippled through her arms.

 

True to form, Sabrina hollered from the hood of the Maserati she was working on. “Why stop now, handsome? We’re all adults here!”

 

Zelda peeked out of her office. “Meh, too young for me.”

 

Hilda cackled hysterically. “You sure? Don’t think they can keep up with you otherwise, sis.”

 

Betty pressed her hands to her increasingly hot cheeks. “Oh, God, ladies! Take it easy!” she cried. She peeked at Jughead, who was turning visibly red in the face.    

 

Ethel was suddenly there, hands behind her back and smiling beatifically. She bumped Betty’s shoulder and in a stage whisper, asked, “So is this the guy from last night?”

 

 _Oh, my God, really?_ “No, _Ethel,_ that was a completely different guy.”

 

Ethel nodded and looked Jughead from head to toe. “Nice. I like this one.”  Then she left to join Zelda in the office.

 

Betty turned to Jughead and mouthed, _I’m sorry._

 

He smirked. “So this is an All-Women garage.”

 

Grateful for a real topic of conversation, Betty nodded enthusiastically. “Correct. We take in customers of all genders, but we specialize in women who are intimidated to go to auto repair shops. When they want it, we give them informational material on the cost of materials, the labor, what issues their cars have, what can or can’t wait in terms of repairs. We encourage them to buy their own parts so they only have to pay us labor. For a little more, we teach women how their cars work from under the hood. We want ladies empowered.”

 

He nodded, an impressed smile on his face. “It’s awesome. Maybe I’ll bring Jellybean with me next time. You guys are great role models.”

 

Betty couldn’t help but blush at the praise.

 

His stance shifted, as if he remembered something. “Hey, listen, I got you something from the local bakery. Just some donuts and eclairs.” He fished a box from his motorcycle. “I didn’t know how many of you worked here, but this should be enough.”

 

She could have swooned at his thoughtfulness. She sighed and took the box, kissing him on the cheek. “You are so sweet, Jughead. I love eclairs. Ladies, Jughead brought us something!”

 

Hilda made a beeline for the sweets. “Oh, he’s a keeper, Betty.”

 

Sabrina was there in a second, calling the other girls over. They flocked to the box, showering Jughead with scandalous compliments and saucy winks. Jughead was so red-faced and adorable that Betty could only giggle through a mouthful of cream and chocolate.

 

“Mama’s pleased,” Zelda said, chomping through a donut. “You need to come here more often, honey.”

 

“Mmm, hmm, I agree!” Ethel said. “Betty should sabotage your motorcycle so that it breaks down every week.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes. “Really, Ethel.”

 

As the girls demolished the box, they went back to their work stations. They didn’t stop throwing flirty comments at him, though, and Jughead almost looked sorry he had made such a good impression.

 

Stifling her laugh, Betty jerked her head to one side of the garage. “Let’s get your chopper over to the stand lift station, where _it’s more private!”_

 

Laughter followed them as Jughead, with his bike, trailed after her and rounded a corner where the lift was. She rolled her tool cabbie with her fluidly. He mounted the bike on the ramp and unloaded his things from the back of it.  When Betty had secured the bike, she activated the lift and the bike rose slowly with the table.

 

“So, what do you need today, boss?” she asked.

 

He smirked and for a couple of seconds, he just looked at her, his eyes saying volumes about what he needed. She tried to act like she was reading nothing from his face, even as her insides fluttered uncontrollably and she wanted to fling herself onto him with wild abandon.

 

Finally, he replied. “It’s about ready for an oil change.”

 

“You’re in luck because we just happen to have a surplus of oil for this beauty. I can give that to you for a discount and I won’t bill you labor, since we have the First Timer offer.”

 

He gave her a chiding look, a small smile on his face. “Betts. I can pay for the service.”

 

“I know you can. I just don’t let my friends pay full price. Ask Veronica. I _always_ give her the discount.”

 

He shook his head and began to dig into his bag.  “Fine, but I get to take pictures of you. Is that cool?”  He pulled out a hefty looking camera and started adjusting the settings.

 

She eyed him with amusement. “Is this for the project?”

 

“Could be. But maybe this is just for me.” He winked.

 

Laughing, she went over to his side and asked him to explain the settings to her. He did, talking about the lens, angles, perspectives, and apertures. He made her take a couple of test shots, which she enjoyed trying out because she could feel him looking over her shoulder.

 

She took a picture of Sabrina peeking from her workstation and showed it to him. Sabrina’s colorfully tattooed arms were a great contrast to her platinum blond hair, at the same time they were a great complement to the red Maserati.

 

“Great work, Cooper,” he said. “You have a talent for this.”

 

“My tutor’s super motivating,” she said, smirking. She handed him back his camera and got to work on his bike.

 

She took her rag from her belt and an oil pan from her cabbie. She meticulously wiped down the pan, then the area surrounding the oil drain plug. When she was satisfied, she placed the pan underneath the bike, grabbed her drive ratchet, extension, and socket, and worked it around the plug. As she unscrewed the plug, she smiled up at him just as he snapped pictures of her.

 

Casting him a sardonic grin, he shrugged and said, “Make love to the camera, baby.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh, but she let him take his snapshots. “You keep your ride nice and clean. It must’ve cost you some to get this one. This bike isn’t cheap.”

He shrugged. “My father gave it to me.”

 

“Generous of him”

 

He paused, hesitating. “Yeah.”

 

She looked at him and he was only able to hold her gaze for a couple of seconds before he began to take pictures again. He didn’t sound like he was going to say any more about it. She picked up the drain plug and jimmied out the o-ring delicately, then she started to clean the plug thoroughly with her rag, getting into the treads.

 

“My dad got me interested in cars,” she said. “He would work on his engines and I would watch over his shoulder, then he started telling me what the tools were for. When I got a little older, he let me work on the engines, too. He was a hobbyist, but I got obsessed with it.” She grinned. “I haven’t stopped since.”

 

He smiled back, watching her as she worked. Taking pictures then looking down at the viewer after taking a set of shots.

 

She set the plug aside and went to the shelves to grab more materials. She looked through the supplies, picked up a replacement filter, a new o-ring, and some bottles of motor oil. She could hear the click of the camera and she wondered briefly if her jumpsuit made her look fat.

 

Pushing the thought aside, she set the materials down on her worktable and put a new o-ring into the drain plug. She set that aside and began to unscrew the oil tank cap. Pulling it out, she looked at the stick and cleaned it on her rag before setting it neatly aside. “Dad taught me a whole lot of things.”

 

If there was one regret she had, it was that she had to be estranged from her father. Her and her dad were close until her mother took over completely and pushed him aside. By the time she was in her teens, he was there, but he _wasn’t there._

 

With the oil tank drained, she set the pan aside and screwed the plug back in firmly with her hand, then her ratchet.

 

“Where’s he now?” Jughead asked while she tightened the oil plug. She wiped the area surrounding it in case oil had dripped anywhere around it.

 

She started working on popping the old filter out, and when she did, she threw it in the bin and unboxed the new one. “At home. Where he always was. With mom.” She grimaced as she unscrewed the cap off the new filter and checked it to make sure it was good for use.  She started cleaning the area where the old filter had come out from.

 

She knew Jughead was thinking about what she said and she let him marinate on it as she took one of the bottles of oil and pre-filled the new filter with it. She installed the new filter carefully to avoid spills, wiped the surrounding area clean, and then stuck a funnel through the open tank.

 

“But you lived with your brother?” Jughead finally asked.

 

She nodded as she started pouring the bottles of oil into the tank. The last bottle, she kept back about half and then used the dipstick to check the levels.

 

“Why?”

 

She smirked and eyed him. “Why does Jellybean stay with _you?”_

 

Jughead sniffed and shrugged. “Things happened.”

 

She nodded and continued to do her work, replacing the tank cap.  After checking the motorcycle’s settings, she turned it on to run it for a few seconds. “Things happened to us--to me, too!” she said above the roar of the engine.

 

After a minute, she shut the motor off, poured the rest of the oil into the tank, then plugged the tank closed, finally.  She wiped all surfaces clean and grinned.

 

“All done,” she said. “I wish they were all that easy. Your bike’s in great shape.” She lowered the lift until it was flat on the floor.

 

Jughead cocked a smile and leaned against the bike. “How much do I owe you?”

 

She smirked and took the iPad from her tool cab, punched in the materials, skipped the labor, then applied her 40% off associate discount. She showed him the bill on the screen, which came to $30.

 

He looked at her chidingly. “Betts, I usually pay $80 for an oil change.”

 

She shrugged. “Told you I’d give you a special price. Payment goes to Ethel at the office. Go settle up.”

 

“Do you accept tips?” he asked.

 

“From you? I won’t take cash,” she said, winking at him.

 

He grinned and turned away shyly to go the office. The girls left him alone as he made his way and Betty was glad for it. She didn’t think Jughead would survive another round of teasing.

 

She removed the locks from the bike and rolled it off the lift. It was heavy, but she was always stronger than she looked.  She kicked the stand out and by the time Jughead came back, it was ready to be mounted and rolled out of the garage.

 

He settled on the bike to level his eyes with her. “Got any plans for the weekend, Cooper?”

 

Her heart skipped a beat and turned nonchalantly to rearrange her tools. It was all she could do to contain her excitement. “Maybe. Why do you ask?” She wiped her hands on her rag.  

 

Smirking, Jughead picked his backpack from the floor and started packing his camera away. “Thought maybe we can exchange some project ideas over dinner on Friday. You like Indian food?”

 

“I love Indian food,” she replied. “This isn’t a date, is it?”

 

He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to smile. “Naw. It’s my tip. For a job well done on my bike.”

 

She bit her lip, trying to keep from smiling. “You picking me up, boss?”

 

“Of course. 7 okay?”

 

She nodded. “And is this tip going to be fancy or casual?”

 

He thought about it. “Well, I’m taking the bike, so...”

 

“Biker chick-fancy, then.”

 

He stifled a laugh but managed to keep a straight face. “Whatever that is.”

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Juggie.”

 

He secured his backpack before mounting the bike and putting on his helmet and dark glasses. “I hope you like it hot.”

 

She arched an eyebrow.

 

He kicked his bike to life and its deep rumble filled the garage. “Your food, I mean.”

 

“I can handle heat.”

 

He cocked a smile, backing out through the doors. When he was facing the street, he drove off and Betty giggled to herself.

 

“Well, I can’t handle it,” Sabrina said, twirling her ratchet. “He’s a molten hot treasure, that.”

 

Betty grinned. “Isn’t he? Do you think I should go demure or should I smoke it?”

 

“Smoke it, baby. He wouldn’t know what hit him.”

 

“It’s really just for a project,” she said.

 

“Whatever. _You’re_ his project.”

 

Betty laughed and twirled the edge of her ponytail around her fingers. She was going to like making a project out of _him._

 

***********************

 

Betty turned over on the mat, staring up at the gym’s ceiling. The metal beams were artfully placed and painted bright colors in a backdrop of blue ceiling paint. In the periphery of her vision, she could see the rock climbing walls and the American Ninja Warrior set ups.  

 

She randomly thought that everyone at this gym had to be out of their minds, punishing themselves like this. What was this never ending quest for the perfect body?  And what about her? Just because someone in some distant past had suggested that she needed arm work, she was now at this place, climbing the rock faces.  She was just as bad as the rest of them.

 

Kevin’s face appeared, blocking her view of the ceiling. “You know that floor’s gross, right?”

 

She sighed, covering her face with gloved hands. “I try not to think about it.” The smell of sweaty leather from her gloves was sharp and she was reminded, unpleasantly, of shoe polish, of all things.  When her mother had insisted that leather shoes of any kind must be polished to a sheen. Her black Mary Janes and leather booties needed constant shining, and her mother made sure she attended to it. When she forgot, she made Betty shine _all_ the leather shoes in their closets. It made her feel like Cinderella sometimes, following the bidding of her wicked stepmother.

 

There was always the wish of a prince, she had to admit, who would take her away from it all. Perhaps in reality, Polly had been her fairy godmother and Chic her savior, however screwed up the parallels were, with Polly becoming drug addicted and Chic an FBI agent.

 

She groaned softly. Was she spiraling now?  She may very well be spiraling at the moment.

 

“Alright, sweety,” Kevin said, picking her up by the shoulders. “Let’s take a break.”

 

She wondered if Kevin could tell.

 

He led her to the eating area, which were really just tables where gym goers could sit and drink their coconut waters and eat their protein bars.

 

Kevin plopped down across from her, his black exercise tank and jogging pants fashionable and functional. Of course he looked good all sweaty and worked out. He may have even put on a bit of eyeliner, he looked so pretty.

 

“How do you look so good after climbing so many walls?” she asked, tiredly.  She was feeling extremely gross at the moment. Not only did she feel sticky, she was wearing her old running sweats and outdated tank.  She had hair up in a thick bun, but it was coming apart and falling all around her face. She felt like a wreck.  

 

He shrugged, taking a swill of his bottle. “Naturally beautiful, I guess.”

 

She chuckled quietly, bending over on her knees.  

 

“Hey,” Kevin said, nudging her. “You okay?” His voice was gentle, and she felt grateful for it, but she did feel a little overwhelmed.

 

She wasn’t sure why, but she was guessing it was the uphill-downhill-uphill pattern of her emotions the last couple of weeks. She’d been letting herself get drawn with those emotions and she hadn’t been keeping tabs on what was relevant and what was white noise. She was packed in and disorganized and she needed to declutter.  

 

It was just difficult, with school having started so furiously around her, with parties and new classmates and Jughead.

 

_Oh, Jughead._

 

She managed a small smile. How this tall, dark, brooding, and handsome biker has become her bright spot in the fog was a welcome anomaly. The last thing she wanted was for her date with him to become a source of her anxiety.  She wanted to appreciate the upcoming date with joy and excitement.

 

“I think I’ll be fine,” she said, taking her water bottle and swilling its contents. “I just need to take a moment or two. I’ve been letting my mind run free and now it’s picked up some trash along the way.”

 

Kevin nodded. He understood and she didn’t need to explain. He had spent a whole year understanding what went on with her in her head, because he was her best friend, platonic love of her life, and maybe occasional gym buddy. She was the reason all their peers were one year ahead of them.

 

Sometimes, when she felt guilty about holding Kevin back, he’d simply say, “Girl, we promised we’d go to college together. I’m not going without you. This was our plan from the start and this is our destiny.”

 

He said this without a single hint of resentment, and perhaps she believed it because she needed to.  

 

“You sure? I can score us some weed later. Get the edge off.”

 

She laughed, slapping his knee. “Kev! Not so loud!”

 

Kevin scoffed. “Please. Half the people here do it.  We’re going to smoke some later.  I’ve decided.”

 

She wasn’t going to tell him no. While weed certainly wasn’t a regular occurrence at their apartment, she and Kevin had smoked a joint together several times in the past.  It was always good to chill with him after a stressful day.

 

“So tell me what’s going on?” he asked. “What trash is weighing you down?”

 

It was nice to have someone like Kevin who knew what her moods meant. “Just everything. School, parties, boys…”

 

He gave her a pointed look. “Boys?”

 

“One boy.”

 

“Forsythe Pendleton III?”

 

Her eyebrow arched and then she burst out in giggles. “That’s his whole name? Holy shit.”

 

“Yep. Looked it up.  It might have fit if he looked like he had a stick up his ass, but that whole biker-slacker vibe he has going there doesn’t go with the name.”

 

“Jughead is almost just as odd, though,” she said. “But like I care. He could be named Beetlejuice and I’d probably still want to jump his bones.”

 

Kevin grinned. “So did he show up at the garage?”

 

She nodded, her face growing warm at the mere memory of him. “God, yeah, he did. He was gorgeous. And he brought donuts and eclairs for everyone.”

 

“What a prince!”

 

“On his totally metal steed. I wanted to do things to him, Kev. Like--bad. Things.”

 

Kevin threw back his head and laughed.  “Why don’t you?”

 

She sighed, smiling. “Many reasons, the main thing being that I want to know him better. He’s clever, interesting, funny, and he seems like such a nice guy. And his younger sister lives with him--like, he’s taking care of her, Kev.”

 

“Well, that probably made your ovaries explode.”

 

Betty gave him a chastising look, trying her very best not to giggle. “Okay, I concede that may have played a part in some of this, but you have to admit that speaks to his generally good character.”

 

“Sure it does.”

 

“And he’s also a sexy beast and I’d like to explore the dimensions of that.”

 

“Now we’re talking.”

 

She grinned.

 

“So you like him. Ask him out.”

 

Sighing, she leaned back on the tables and threw her head back. “He already did. We’re having dinner on Friday.”

 

“Well, there you go!” Kevin gushed. “What’s the problem?”

 

“There isn’t a problem, except for the usual anxieties that are overtaking my brain right now. What if a pimple pops up overnight? What if I say something stupid during the date and he ends up hating me? What if I don’t look as good in my clothes as I thought? What if, what if, what if….”

 

“Betty, honey, you are listening to Alice again.”

 

She groaned. “I know! I know, I know.  I like him. I can’t think straight. I’ve just been letting things run wild in my head.”

 

Kevin crouched in front of her on the floor and put his hands on Betty’s shoulders.  “You’ve got this, Betty. That boy sold his soul to me so that he could be in the same class as you and since then he’s taken you to lunch and went to your garage, all before he even asked you out to dinner. Not to mention the fact that he probably agonized over how he was going to contact you for an entire week, because whatever you did to him in that closet, you can be sure he hasn’t forgotten it and probably wants more of it.”

 

She blushed at the memory of that alone, and as she sat there letting Kevin’s words wash over her, she remembered Jughead in class and at lunch, and at the garage. Right from the beginning, Jughead was the kind of guy who chose his words well, even as he bumbled through his questions about Trev and explained why he didn’t use social media to contact her. And when he wasn’t speaking he had those amazing blue eyes and adorable smirks that spoke volumes about the way he saw her.

 

And yes, the kissing was amazing.

 

A smile blossomed on her lips and Kevin grinned back.

 

“Better?” he asked.  

 

She nodded. “Better.”

 

“Weed later?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

Kevin laughed.  

 

“I love you,” she said. And she meant it. She always did with Kevin.

 

“I know. I love you, too.  Now, ready to climb another wall?”

 

She groaned.  “Do we have to?”

 

“Girl, I need a workout and you know I can’t do anything without you.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so have a thing for tattoos. I have them, too, you see. So I think Jughead and Betty will always have them (well, Jughead has one now, in the show).


	4. The More You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead and Betty get to know each other better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, I feel better about that last episode than I did the one last week. Still many questions, but at the very least, Jughead and Toni did not boink and Betty's regaining control of her situation.

 

 

I need a gangsta

To love me better

Than all the others do

To always forgive me

Ride or die with me

That's just what gangsters do

My freakness is on the loose

And running, all over you

Please take me to places, that nobody, nobody knows

You got me hooked up on the feeling

You got me hanging from the ceiling

Got me up so high I'm barely breathing

So don't let me, don't let me, don't let me, don't let me go

\- Kehlani - Gangsta

 

 

Veronica jammed the tank top over Betty’s head and said, “Just try it!”

 

Sighing, Betty did. She looked at her outfit and it looked nice. She liked the leather pants. She had asked Veronica if she could borrow them, after all. And they looked great with her own black motorcycle boots, but even if the gold top was flattering and glamorous, it didn’t feel like her style.

 

“Smoke show!” Veronica said. “Kevin! Need your opinion!”

 

Kevin walked into the room, took one look at Betty and said, “I hate it.” He turned and began to look through Betty’s closets.

 

Veronica’s jaw dropped. “But--”

 

“Thank you!” Betty sighed, removing the top to strip down to her bra.

 

Kevin handed her a white crop top with a plunging v-neck and capped sleeves. “Here you go, honey. This will knock his socks off.”

 

“It’s practically cotton. Not a hint of bling,” Veronica said, her nose turned up in distaste.

 

“Trust me, _mami,”_ Kevin said.

 

Betty slipped on the shirt. It fit perfectly to her trim body, showing off her cleavage. It was cropped enough that some skin between her pants and the hem of her shirt would show. She felt comfortable in it. And she felt sexy.

 

Betty loved it already, and when Kevin handed her a cropped black jacket with styled buckles and pockets, she looked amazing.

 

“I am so proud of myself,” Kevin said, grinning.

 

Betty smiled and looked at Veronica.

 

Veronica crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright. I admit she’s a fox.”

 

“And it’s her. Amirite?” Kevin asked.

 

Veronica nodded. “I’ll even style her ponytail. We love you as you are, Betty.”

 

“Thanks, guys.” Betty sat in front of the mirror and let Veronica brush out her hair. “You’re the best.”

 

Veronica started to fix her hair and Kevin sat on her bed.

 

“I don’t know what you bitches will do without me,” he said, taking one of Betty’s magazines. “Oh, for goodness sake, Popular Mechanics? Betty, my dear--”

 

“What? It’s what I read in my leisure time!”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes. “You’re one of a kind, Cooper. I think that’s what pisses Cheryl off the most--in the best way possible, of course.”

 

“Yeah, how’s that going?” Betty asked, picking some bracelets from her dresser and putting them on. “Is she a lot nicer to you than she is to everyone else?”

 

Veronica chuckled. “Definitely. Cheryl’s more caring than she would like people to think.  I know she comes off as some Ice Queen to most, but that’s all just a front. And contrary to popular belief, she does care for people who aren’t rich.”

 

Kevin snorted. “I’d like to see her in a soup kitchen.”

 

“Let’s not get carried away here,” Veronica said. “At least she isn’t like her demon of a brother. He’s just an outright douche nozzle. He’ll end up in Wall Street and be the biggest sonofabitch on the floor.”

 

“So I take it you don’t like him,” said Kevin.

 

Betty giggled.

 

“Horrible.”  Veronica pulled Betty’s hair up in a kickass ponytail that had a somewhat punk, badass vibe to it that, of course, Betty liked. “There you go, _mija._ Go forth and fuck.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes even as she turned and gave Veronica a hug. “Thank you. I’d like to think that I’d wait at least until the second or third date before I put out, but thank you for the blessing.”

 

“Screw the rules. If you’re in charge, it doesn’t matter what date you’re on.”

 

Betty wished she could take Veronica’s confidence, bottle it, and drink it every time her mother’s voice sounded in her head.

 

Kevin sighed. “That motorcycle, though.”

 

“Isn’t it? I think my panties dropped when he told me he had one that night at Cheryl’s.”

 

Veronica looked thoughtful. “I never knew he had one. Archie certainly never told me, but then again, I haven’t been interested in boys since Cheryl came around.”

 

“Well, I love boys and I never knew,” Kevin pointed out. “I guess he just really keeps to himself.”

 

Veronica scowled. “I’m a junior, though. I’ve been here a while and you’re both freshies. I thought I knew everyone on campus and Jughead’s a sophomore. He’s been here a while, too.”

 

“Kevin’s right, V. Jughead keeps to himself. Go ask Archie why he never told you more about his roommate.”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Ugh, Archie’s a sweetheart, but he is perpetually distracted by women. He is an unreliable narrator.”

 

When the doorbell rang, Betty jumped and grabbed her lipstick. “He’s early! How is that possible with the elevator broken?”

 

Kevin rose from the bed and wagged his finger. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m answering the door. Don’t come out until I tell you.” He left her room, closing the door behind him.

 

Betty carefully applied her lipstick and Veronica began to spray her with perfume. Betty laughed. “V! That’s enough!”

 

A few seconds later, Kevin popped his head through the crack of the door.  “He’s so fucking hot, Betty. I don’t know what,” he said in a whisper. “Get out here already before I jump him.”

 

Betty felt her stomach drop then do flips. She grabbed her phone and stuck her card and driver’s license in its casing. She shoved her phone into her pocket along with her lipstick, house keys, and some cash.

 

Veronica straightened her jacket one last time then said, “Go!”

 

Betty walked out, with Veronica following close behind, from where she heard an audible gasp.

 

“ _Ay, dios mio_ ,” Veronica whispered.

 

Betty didn’t blame her. Jughead was wearing charcoal gray jeans that fitted him nicely, his usual combat boots, and his beanie, but the fitted black shirt he was wearing showed off the nice cut of his arms and shoulders. The silver snake pendant he had on and the biker cuff he was wearing added to the sexy badass look that made him so devastatingly irresistible. His leather jacket was off and he looked a little winded, maybe even a bit sweaty--that happened when one had to climb seven floors worth of steps. She had been cursing those steps since the elevator broke last week, but right this minute, Betty didn’t mind them one bit.

 

Jughead blinked and shook his head, blowing a breath through his lips. “You look fantastic, Betts.”

 

“So do you,” she replied, somewhat shyly.

 

They stood there for a couple of seconds just appreciating one another, when Jughead broke the spell and held up a package.

 

“Um, I brought you something.” It was wrapped in brown paper and tied in twine.

 

First she marveled at how he brought her something other than flowers, and then she marveled at how well-wrapped the thing was.

 

“Jellybean,” he said, by way of explanation.

 

She chuckled. “Of course.” She pulled the twine and it fell free, then she undid the wrapping paper. At first glance, she saw that it was a white picture frame, in a vintage, distressed design, but when she turned it over, she saw that it was a picture of her at the shop removing the old o-ring from the drain plug. She had a tool in her hand, and beside her the gleam of the chrome on the motorcycle reflected her arm and its tattoo. The angle was flattering to her face, showing the line of her jaw and the jut of her cheekbones, but her lips were slightly parted and she was looking intently at the plug in her busy hands.

 

It was a great picture and she appreciated that he chose _this,_ the one where she was working, serious, and doing what she loved best. He could have picked one of her smiling, but he went with her intensity.

 

She hugged the picture to her chest. “Thank you. I love it.”

 

He cocked a grin.

 

“Oh, he gonna get fucked tonight,” Kevin whispered under his breath.

 

Betty elbowed Kevin in the ribs to be quiet. “Juggie, I’m just going to put this in my room and then we can leave.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Betty went to her room and Veronica followed.

 

“Oh my God, _swoon,_ ” Veronica whispered. “Who’d have thought our dear Holden Caulfield was so _extra?”_

 

“Jughead is, like, 98% less horrid than Holden Caulfield.”

 

Veronica shot her a look. “Your book nerd is showing.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes and kissed Veronica’s cheek. “Sorry. Thank you for coming over to help me get ready.”

 

“It was a pleasure, hon. Go have fun!”

 

Betty went to join Jughead at the door.

 

Kevin saw her off. _“_ Before you go, I want you to solemnly swear on Alexander McQueen that you will wake me first thing tomorrow and tell me everything,” he said, holding up his sweater for her.

 

Betty placed her hand on his sweater, and said, straight-faced, “I swear.”

 

Kevin nodded, satisfied. He stuck out his cheek so Betty could kiss it before he let her go and closed the door behind them.  

 

“Alexander McQueen?” Jughead asked.

 

“It’s his most expensive sweater.”

 

“Right. Of course. What do _you_ make him swear to?”

 

“It changes often, but these days, it’s Zadie Smith’s _White Teeth.”_

 

“Is it always a book?”

 

“Always.”

 

He smirked and she grinned at his willingness to indulge her and Kevin’s silliness.

 

“I wish I had something for you,” she said as they descended the seven flights of stairs. “That picture was super thoughtful.”

 

He shrugged. “I saw it in my memory card from the other day. Thought you looked amazing in it.”

 

Again, she marveled at how he liked her best that way, working and serious. She’d spent most of hear earlier years tortured by the words, “Where’s that smile?” which always made her want to do the complete opposite. Nobody told her it was okay _not_ to smile.

 

Jughead put that sentiment in a picture frame.

 

Kevin was right. She wanted this boy, but she knew she wanted more from him than just that body and what it could do to hers.  Slowing things down would probably be wise.

 

_Or sweet, delicious torture._

 

Stifling a sigh, she managed to summon a grin. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

 

He seemed surprised by her tease for a moment. He chuckled and took her by the hand to tug her closer. “All the girls would be you and Jellybean.”

 

She arched an eyebrow in mild disbelief.

 

He seemed to find her disbelief amusing. “I don’t get out much.”

 

_That’s alright, Juggie. More for me._

 

They reached the bottom of the steps and they headed out on the street where Jughead had parked his bike. Her jacket worked fine for the ride, so she only had to borrow Jellybean’s helmet. Jughead suited up with his jacket, helmet, and night visor, mounted his bike and kicked it to life. Betty never tired of watching him do that. And having done this in the past, she got on Jughead’s bike with practiced ease.

 

She loved driving through the city at night. Everything was alive and the most interesting looking people littered the sidewalks. New York City had its quiet places and secret nooks and crannies, but everyone’s first impression of it was always a pulsing, urban paradise.

 

He drove them down between the 20s and 30s where Mid-Eastern and Indian restaurants were clumped together. There were buffets everywhere, but Jughead, leading her by the hand, brought her to a less distinct place, its door practically hidden by overgrown trees and flowers. It was much quieter in this restaurant, even if the tables seem filled.

 

He’d made reservations, which Betty thought was oddly genteel, and they were brought to a corner booth where the cushioned seats were actually elevated platforms, so to sit on it felt a little like sitting on the floor. Jughead slid into his side of the booth and made full use of the space, leaning back against the booth wall and pulling his knees up. Betty sat with her legs crossed in front of her.

 

Already, she could smell the curry and spice floating in the air, mixing with the smoke of scented candles. The darkness made for a romantic ambience, and the flowing waters dominating the displays were almost hypnotic and calming.  

 

The patrons were predominantly Indian, with some of the elder women wearing saris and some of the younger kids in similar traditional wear. The few non-Indians in the place were dressed pretty much on the same level as her and Jughead--ready for a night out after a good dinner.

 

The waiter came by to take their drink orders and Betty ordered a soda. Jughead asked for a beer, and when the waiter asked for his ID, he gave it, and was promised the drink, no problem. She filed this in the Jughead drive in her head.

 

They talked briefly about the menu, and when the waiter came back to take their orders, Jughead pointed out several dishes. Betty thought he had ordered for her, but when he was done, he asked her what she wanted, so she gave her order, slightly mystified. The waiter left.

 

She eyed him cautiously. “Was that all for you?”

 

“Their portions are small,” he said, grinning.

 

She looked at him dubiously. She had seen the food delivered to the other tables. They didn’t seem that small, but she wasn’t there to judge his appetite, which she had seen a bit of at the taqueria the last time. Instead, she just said, “This place is great, Juggie. How did you find this?”

 

“Jellybean,” he replied. “Between the two of us, she’s the social butterfly. She took me and Archie here on my birthday before going to the movies. She figured it was quiet enough that I won’t get cranky.”

 

“When’s your birthday?”

 

“October.”

 

She arched an eyebrow and waited. When he didn’t go on, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Listen, if we’re going to be friends, we’re going to have to open up a little more to each other.”

 

He looked at her intently, gauging her words. “Quid, pro, quo, Clarice.”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. “You’re quoting a psycho. You know that, right?”

 

Jughead chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t like my birthday. It’s not my favorite day of the year.”

 

“Alright,” she said, eager to make this work. “You’re obviously at least 21.”

 

“Could be a fake ID,” he said with a grin.

 

She refused to be sidetracked. “You should be a junior, then--I know Archie and Veronica are, but you’re a sophomore.”

 

“Maybe I’m just a slow learner and got held back in school.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Right, because Ivy League schools like slow learners. You took a gap year, didn’t you?”

 

Jughead sniffed, then probably deciding that he could give a little without giving too much, he nodded. “Yeah. I took a gap year. So did you. I bet that story’s more interesting.”

 

“I doubt it. What did you do in that gap year? Travel the world? Join the peace corps?”

 

He shook his head, stifling a grin. “As if. This can be a long story, but I’ll keep it short. During that gap year, I published a book. The publisher had me promoting it.”

 

It was her turn to drop her jaw. “You _published a book?_ With whom?”

 

“Midsized imprint called Mulhoney Books.”

 

Her jaw dropped even further. “Juggie! That isn’t midsized! Mulhoney is under the Reagan & Brown imprint. They’re fucking huge. They must’ve paid you a fortune.”

 

He shrugged. “It was more money than I’ve ever seen, but I was nobody. They just liked the way I wrote. I was paid okay, and my agent said I was young and looked totally legit in my genre, whatever that means. I had moderate success, which wasn’t bad for a 19 year old.”

 

“Did they contract you to write more?”

 

“My agent said they would if I showed them a new manuscript. I’m halfway through a new manuscript. I just don’t know if I want to share it just yet. Maybe I’ll finish school first. I don’t know.”

 

He was a nerd after her own heart. “But you’re a published author, though!”

 

He waved her words away. “I used it to get into Columbia and get that scholarship. Its done its job and I’m willing to wait. I’ve tried the no-college route. For someone like me who grew up in a trailer park, it’s nothing but trouble, so Columbia’s mine and Jellybean’s ticket out.”

 

She didn’t know what to say, but maybe she was short of making heart-eyes at him. She always said that intelligence turned her on, but she never actually got physically turned on by a smart guy--not until now.

 

She was just about to ask him more regarding growing up in a trailer park when he beat her to asking a question of his own.

 

“How about you?” he shot right back. “What did you do in your gap year? How did you get into Columbia?”

 

She snapped out of her musings and decided _her_ gap year was a story for another day, but she was willing to tell him about getting into Columbia. “Oh, the usual. Editor of the school paper, cheerleader, straight As, committee chair on everything. I was horrible. Utterly boring.”

 

“Boring,” he repeated, his tone disbelieving. “Is that what you’re going with? Who’s holding back now?”

 

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. He sounded like he already knew the answer. “Why Juggie, I thought you didn’t do the social media?”

 

“I don’t,” he said, pointedly. “My sister Googled you. She doesn’t think it’s all that stalkerish, which makes me slightly concerned, I admit. I still think it’s creepy, but she told me what she found and I couldn’t help but listen. You weren’t telling me much.”

 

 _He’s so cute, turning things around._ Then again, they were both hiding a few things, so she couldn’t exactly call him out.

 

“You and Kevin busted a major drug ring in your town. You broke the story in your high school paper.”

 

She shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard to get the exclusive. Kevin’s dad was the town sheriff and my brother was the Fed handling the case.”

 

“Somehow, I don’t see a father and a big brother letting the _kids_ go up against a drug cartel.”

 

“We may have done it behind their backs for a while, but we were able to gather intel they couldn’t. I had friends. Some of them were in the local gang. Kevin’s boyfriend was in that same gang. They were getting blamed for the drugs so we helped them out.”

 

“Wait, you _helped a gang?_ ”

 

It still surprised her how this seemed to catch people off guard. She chuckled. “Why do you find that surprising? Gang members are people, too.”

 

He shot her a smirk. “Oh, is that right? Gang members are people?”

 

She pursed her lips to keep from grinning uncontrollably.  “That’s right. You should know.”

 

He shook his head, chuckling softly.  He must have known she would figure it out somehow. His leather jacket with the gang patch wasn’t exactly on-sale at Bloomingdales. He could’ve picked that jacket out of a vintage shop in SoHo, maybe, but Jughead didn’t strike Betty as a poser.

“Gangs are complicated. They help those of us who’ve been abandoned by the system, and there are some good folks in there, but they’re all pretty shady. Hell, _I_ was shady.”

 

“So you _were_ in a gang,” she pointed out.

 

He hesitated for a second. “I was _._ I haven’t been active for a few years and they haven’t contacted me for anything, but you don’t really leave the Southside Serpents.” He paused, looking at her. “Does that freak you out?”

 

She scoffed. “After we published the drug bust article exonerating the gang, my locker was vandalized with clippings of the article I wrote. There was a doll with yellow hair hanging from a noose and someone had written Gang Whore in pig’s blood. Students did that. _Not_ members of the gang. People will do shit, whether they’re in a gang or not.”

 

“Jesus, okay.” He took a deep breath. “Did you have a boyfriend in the gang or something?”

 

She cast him a mildly chastising look. “Juggie, I don’t have to be sleeping with someone to want to help them out.”

 

“God, no. That’s not what I meant. I just wondered why people would even think to write that on your locker. Like, why go for the gender slur? Or maybe they didn’t have to think you were dating anyone in the gang. They were just being their patriarchal selves: You’re a woman and therefore you must be doing it for a guy.”

 

It probably shouldn’t have surprised her that Jughead so easily put on his Women and Gender Studies hat to talk about this.

 

This was not helping her slow things down with regard to her wanting to jump his bones.

 

She shrugged. “I have to admit, they probably did think I had a boyfriend in the gang. My own mother thought so. She thought I was sleeping with all of them.”

 

He frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

She shook her head.  

 

He seemed dumbfounded. “Well, how did she take it?”

 

It amused her that he didn’t automatically think that her mother didn’t go bonkers in the worst way at the idea that her daughter was sleeping with an entire group of petty criminals.

 

“Badly,” she said. “Like really badly.”

 

He seemed to think on what she said. “Like, badly internally or did she let you know it?”

 

She was surprised, honestly.  Did he really want to know the details?  So often people thought they wanted to know, but when she told, they realized that they had bitten off more than they could chew.  It was entirely possible that he was just moving the conversation along and didn’t know that he was asking a really loaded question.

 

She remembered something her therapist had told her about opening the doors to her history, because then she’d know immediately if someone would be good for her or not. Obviously, first reactions shouldn’t devolve into a license to judge, because the things in her life were so difficult to hear, but she couldn’t help but feel trust for this man who, not only seemed evolved, but self-aware and caring.

 

But what was the first date etiquette on telling someone your life’s story?  Probably to go slow.

 

When the silence began to stretch over her internal obsessing, his ears reddened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just--I get caught up in stories and I--it’s a writer thing.”

 

She tilted her gaze at him, an apologetic look on her face. She needed to explain. “I’m more worried about how you would feel than I am about myself. I’ve worked out a lot of things and I don’t mind sharing, but I never assume people could handle it. It’s not something you share on a first date.”

 

“Maybe you’ve just been going out with the wrong guys.”

 

Again, she was surprised, not just because he may have a point, but because he didn’t seem afraid of what he would find.  And honestly, if Jughead couldn’t handle what baggage she had, she may as well save herself the prolonged heartbreak and get it over with _now._

 

“She dragged me out of my room by my hair and buzzed most of it off, telling me that if I looked hideous, maybe I’d stop sleeping around because no one would want me.” It spilled out of her lips in a torrent. And when she was done, she waited for his reaction with bated breath.

 

He stared at her, saying nothing, but he wasn’t averting his eyes, either, which was extraordinary in itself. Was he wondering whether he should just get the check and call her an Uber?

 

She was over _that_ episode with her mother, thanks to therapy, but she recognized that it was one of the most explosive moments in her family history. It was a primary indication of the abuse that had, for so many years, seemed so much more subtle. Gaslit. Like she hadn’t been sure if it was abuse or just tough love.

 

He lowered his gaze, finally.  He took a deep breath. “So I’m thinking that’s about the time your brother took you out of there.”

 

That he didn’t just up and leave was fanning the flames of hope in her heart. “Nah. He didn’t find out. Dad took me to the salon to fix it and the next day, it was as if I just wanted to cut my hair _really_ short.”

 

Jughead looked mildly outraged. “He covered for your mom?”

 

“He always did.”

 

“And your brother didn’t notice?”

 

“Chic didn’t know until a bit later.”

 

Jughead’s brows furrowed. “How could he _not_ know? I watched Jellybean like a hawk growing up. I’d have known if she had a mosquito bite, much more a radical haircut.”

 

“Chic wasn’t around for most of my life. Mom and dad had him when they were sixteen and gave him up for adoption. First time I met him was that year of the drug bust. He was already looking for us, his biological family, when this drug ring problem exploded in my town, so he asked the bureau to assign him to the case. Rest is history.”

 

He looked at her intently. “I’m sorry. That your mom was--” he took a deep breath. “Abusive. And that your dad didn’t fight for you.”

 

She nodded, still reeling from the fact that Jughead was still there, and that he was actually still talking about it.  At the very least, people who didn’t pick up and leave immediately gently changed the subject, and for the most part, Betty already considered _that_ a win. Jughead appeared to be going above and beyond.  

 

Maybe it _was_ a writer thing. Or maybe he was just that unafraid.

 

“Chic was furious with him,” she admitted. “He was as angry with my father as he was with my mother. I think ‘complicit’ was the term Chic used.”

 

He shrugged. “You can’t say you love someone if you stand by and let bad things happen to them.”

 

She sighed, lightly. She’d long forgiven her father, but Chic refused to let her father see her, and Polly, who had been just as powerless as Betty was, never saw their father the way Betty did, especially since Polly _did_ try her hardest to fight back, so Polly probably hated their dad more than Chic did.

 

“Yes, well, I’m done hating,” she said. “It hurts everyone, especially me.”

 

He seemed to absorb what she said.  After a brief pause, he finally said, “Ain’t that the truth.” His gaze, however, never wavered from hers. “But if you ever need someone to talk to about all that, I’m willing to listen, alright?”

 

She wanted desperately to move her leg, just a little bit, so that she could rub it against his. Maybe just get him going _a little bit._ Because she was getting seriously hot and bothered by all this.  

 

_Slow down, Cooper._

 

Biting her lip, but probably failing at keeping her gaze rated-PG, she managed to say, “Thanks, Juggie. So, I told you mine. What’s yours? Why does Jellybean live with you?”

 

For a moment, he looked like her gaze would completely undo him.  God, it was undoing _her,_ but he finally tore his eyes from her and he fiddled a bit with the condiment jars on the table, thinking. The silence was getting a bit prolonged, and she was about to tell him that he didn’t have to tell her anything if he didn’t want to, when he began to speak.

 

“Our dad went to jail when I was fifteen and mom spiralled into depression and drugs after that.” He shifted, turning in his seat to face her so that his long legs were under their table. “We were both minors so we had to stay with her, but she was completely incapable of caring for us. I had to get a couple of jobs to support me and Jellybean, so when I turned eighteen, it was a no-brainer. I left that trailer park and took Jellybean with me.”

 

She gave him an affectionate smile and held his hand. “You’re a good brother.”

 

He shrugged. “I just did what I had to do. The book bailed us out bigtime.”

 

“Do you still see your father?”

 

“Sometimes,” he replied. “I go see him when he asks me to in his phone calls. Then we visit him in jail every Thanksgiving.”

 

“How many more years does he have?”

 

He sighed. “Four.”

 

“Maybe he’ll get out earlier for good behavior.”

 

“Maybe. Dunno if it matters.”

 

She tilted her gaze at him. “It’s good of you to visit him. He’ll come out better for it.”

 

Their food finally arrived, and just as Betty suspected, their portions were not really small.

Betty wondered if they made Jughead carry bags of cement up and down the stairs at the construction site just for the hell of it, because _damn,_ that body with that appetite--there had to be stronger forces at work here.

 

She found it easy to stop obsessing, however, when the food proved to be very spicy and delicious. She found herself laughing at how impossibly hot the lamb vindaloo was, or the numbing spice of the chicken curry.

 

And when they weren’t talking about food, they were talking about movies, old and new.

 

Betty loved sci-fi and fantasy, he loved thrillers and horror, but they both love action adventure films and they both loved the classics.  Their movie discussion turned into books, and talking about books led to the one he published.

 

“I’ll buy it from Amazon,” she teased, pulling out her phone.

 

He nudged her phone gently away. “Please don’t. I have a bunch of copies at home. I can give you one, signed and dedicated, because we all know it’s really my autograph you want.”

 

She laughed and pushed his hand away. “I’m letting my wallet speak for you. You probably get a pittance in royalties, but it’s assurance that you’re sellable. I’m buying a copy.”

 

“So you fix my bike--”

 

“It was an oil change. Your bike wasn’t broken.”

 

He ignored her and went on. “Barely make me pay for it, and then you buy my book. I’m starting to feel like a kept man, Cooper. What next? You gonna pay for my boob job?”

 

She giggled as she pressed “Purchase” on her Amazon shopping app. She would be getting her copy with free delivery in a couple of days because she was using Chic’s login, and what good were big brothers for if not for mooching off their Prime accounts?  “Well, I can pay for dinner, actually.”

 

Jughead gave her a look. “I asked you to dinner. I’m paying for it, lady.”

 

“I don’t really mind splitting the check in half. This is just a project thing, right?” she said, her eyes twinkling.

 

“Please don’t split the check with me, especially since I ordered a boat load of food. I’m paying, and yeah, sure, this is a project thing. _My_ project thing. If my project were blonde, smart, and gorgeous.”

 

She blushed in spite of herself, remembering what Sabrina had said at the garage. “So what do you want to do after this, handsome?”

 

He cocked a smile, his cheeks glowing red. “Actually, I thought maybe we _could_ get some project inspiration.”

 

“Oh yeah? How so?”

 

“The Steven Kasher photogallery is re-exhibiting the _Resurrection City_ collection by one of my favorite photographers, Jill Freedman. I’ve seen all her work, but it always feels new to me, especially if there are a new set of eyes to look at the work with me.”

 

She smirked. “Will I be tested on this afterwards?”

 

“Only if you want to be,” he said with a mischievous wink.

 

She wondered if there was anything Jughead Jones could say or do right now that didn’t go straight to her id.

 

Not likely.

 

***************

 

“Jill Freedman walked out of her copywriting job the day Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated so she could join the protests at Washington D.C.,” Jughead told her as they walked into the beautifully lit Steven Kasher Gallery.  “You probably heard of those in history class.”

 

Betty nodded.  “Yes, of course. The protests at the National Mall in 1968. It became a six-week encampment known as Resurrection City.”

 

She and Jughead had walked from the restaurant, the gallery being only a couple of blocks away, and Betty noticed Jughead’s eyes light up at the prospect of bringing her to this exhibit.  He’d been a fan of Jill Freedman since he was a child, when his mother had won a photo book of her work at an office party.  The collection was called _Resurrection City,_ and little Jughead had found the photos depicting raw despair and purposeful protest fascinating.  

 

The interior of the gallery was a wide open space, with plain-gray finished floors and clean, perfectly flat ivory walls. The photographs were artfully arranged and widely spaced, and the lighting was perfect for showcasing the work.

 

Jughead gave her an approving nod.  “Jill Freedman wasn’t a professional photographer then, but her work at the Resurrection City is still my favorite.”  He led her to the photograph nearest to the entrance. It was of the artist herself posing with a demonstrator. “I don’t know if it was because I knew she did what everyone wished they could--quit work to do what she thought was right, or because I just thought the entire encampment was so important, but Resurrection City still does it for me.”

 

She asked him a few more questions about the work, already seeing the power in the images and recognizing a lot of the aspects that had already been discussed in class. He gave short answers, as if he knew that for the most part, she understood what he found so compelling just by looking at the imagery.  

 

The lack of affectation in the images, the intent to just chronicle and capture, made it visually stunning. The black and white coloring did nothing to diminish the emotions jumping from the faces of the photographer’s subjects. Jill Freedman’s purpose was to capture economic disparity and racial politics and she never wavered from her focus.  It was poignant without being preachy. And every so often, the photographer would inject images of solidarity across many races. It was a message: This was not just a problem for the ones suffering it, everyone had to lend a voice.

 

She noticed after a long time staring at a photograph of a group of women walking, hands to shoulders in a line, that Jughead hadn’t said anything in the last twenty minutes, and that he’d mostly been watching her looking at the pictures.

 

“Why so quiet, Jones?” she asked.

 

He seemed mildly surprised. “No particular reason. I’m just waiting to be spoken to. You don’t need me around to enjoy the work.”

 

“That’s kind of a refreshing attitude,” she muttered, meaning it.

 

That beautiful smirk appeared on his face again. “Oh, you mean how I’m not mansplaining everything to you?”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh, because it was so true, not about him, but with interactions in general.  Jughead wasn’t the first guy to bring her to a museum or gallery, but he _was_ the first guy to actually let her look at the artistic work without feeling the need to give her a commentary on every single thing.

 

She pointed to an image of a group of enclosures, a cul-de-sac of plywood homes and the Washington monument as its background. “I like this one. It captures in one snapshot what the entire thing was about. It takes a village to affect change, but it takes time, too. And sometimes the instrument of change seems so symbolic. Almost like it’s unattainable.”

 

Jughead stared at the picture, too.  “You think economic and racial equality is unattainable?”

 

“On a micro level, yeah. Some have it easier than others to begin with. Some have to get through ten obstacles and some only have to get through one. Most times it’s not fair and people just have to recognize that if we really want to be equal, everyone should be given the means to start on the exact same footing.”

 

He arched an eyebrow appraisingly.

 

She found this amusing.  “I’m a journalism major, Juggie. I’d have to be a _little_ woke if I want to be good at it.”

 

This time, he laughed. _“Woke!”_

 

It felt like a crowning achievement, making him laugh like that.

 

As they walked through the rest of the gallery, she asked Jughead what he thought about several other pieces, assuring him that he wasn’t mansplaining if she actually wanted to hear his opinion.  So he did candidly share what he felt about the photographs.

 

His favorite was the picture of a young man, standing and holding up a protest poster for the camera, his co-demonstrators, all of them probably no older than 20, sitting in a circle at his feet while surrounded by cops and the press.

 

“His outfit, for one, is culturally specific, which I liked a lot, because it marked him as a member of a specific group, and he’s standing, because he wanted to be heard, completely unbothered by the cops all around him. If not for this photo, he would’ve just been a statistic, like everyone else. It’s the whole reason Jill Freedman’s work resonates with me, I guess. She took the invisible poor and put faces to it.”

 

Betty felt like thanking him for bringing her to this exhibit, because not only was the photography moving, but it was giving her such insight into Jughead Jones, whether he meant to do it or not.  

 

“I want our project to be about people,” she said, resolutely. “We’re not going to do a puff piece on food, or dogs, or places. I want it to be about people doing everyday but interesting things, or extraordinary but interesting things.”

 

He cocked a smile. “Yeah. I want it to be about people, too. Definitely. We check off the shot list but we can go crazy with the extras.”

 

She bumped his shoulder with hers gently. “Thanks for bringing me to the photo gallery, Juggie. I really enjoyed that.”

 

“Did you, really?”

 

She nodded. “Really. We got to know each other better. That’s the whole point of this date, right?”

 

“Right,” he said, somewhat shyly. “There’s one other place I’d like to take you to before I bring you home. If that’s al--”

 

“Yes,” she said immediately. She wasn’t ready for this night to end.

 

He chuckled. “You don’t even know where it is. What if it were some God awful place?”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Well, no. It’s fairly neutral and pleasant.  Thought we might listen to some jazz hip hop at the High Line. We can walk the High Line a bit, too. It’s nice and quiet in parts of it on a Friday night.”

 

Grinning, she nodded enthusiastically. “I adore jazz hip hop. Digable Planets? Shabbaz Palaces? I dig it. I’m surprised you do, though.”

 

He laughed. “Because I’m a biker I’m supposed to listen to just heavy metal?”

 

She shrugged. “Why not? It suits you.”

 

“I like it just fine, but I like jazz hip hop, too. I got layers, you know.”

 

She chuckled. “That was never a doubt, Jones.”

 

“Also, Archie’s performing with his girl, Val. He plays this pretty slick double bass.”

 

This night was full of surprises. “He’s a musician?”

 

Jughead chuckled. “You should see your face right now.”

 

“What?” she cried, feeling her face grow warm. “What do I look like?”

 

“Like you can’t believe that dumb jock Archie can play music, on an actual instrument. He’s a music major, you know.”

 

Betty had to admit that was shocking to her. “Well, I--wow. But football and music--”

 

Jughead nodded, and waved his hand to soothe her embarrassment. “I get it. And Archie comes off like such a dude bro, that sometimes, I think he does it on purpose to throw people off. Or maybe lower their expectations. I don’t know. But he’s pretty talented. You’ll see.”

 

She smiled and she couldn’t help but warm up to Jughead on this. Archie was his best friend and Jughead wanted people to think better of him. She absolutely respected that.

 

The High Line was an elevated park about 1.5 miles long along the West side of New York, spanning the northern edge of Chelsea to the Hudson Yards. It was a resurrected train track, one that closed in the 80s, and was now a lovely linear garden park. The rails were now artfully part of the design and architecture, melding with the wooden installations and artsy steel sculptures. There were staging areas and amphitheaters, private coves and stretches of grass. There were lounging chairs and stone benches and it gave its visitors a good view of the West side scene.

 

Jughead drove them towards downtown and after they were parked near the underpass, they headed up the steps of the Chelsea entrance, eager to catch the performance.

 

As they neared the amphitheater, Betty could hear a woman’s voice introducing their set. She was thrilled to feel the brush of Jughead’s hand on the skin of her waist as they slid into the steps for their seats. She could tell he didn’t mean to make contact, because his ears reddened, but only slightly.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

 

“Don’t be,” she breathed, smiling as she found herself looking at his lips, which were so temptingly close.

 

“Archie Andrews on double bass, ladies and gentlemen,” said the woman on stage, her voice cutting through their intimacy.

 

Archie’s bass playing filled the air around them and Betty couldn’t help but be distracted by his skill. The redhead’s face was aglow with joy, smiling as he played and grooved to his chords. His fingers and arms moved with confidence along the spine of his huge double bass. Betty found herself impressed.

 

Jughead tugged her gently down beside him and she settled into the bleachers, clapping with the rest of the crowd as Archie finished his short riff.

 

Josie, as she called herself, introduced the rest of the band--Val, who was on drums, and Melody, who wielded the trumpet. “We’re shaking it up today, folks. Less Diana Ross and more hip hop.”

 

There was a quiet ripple of chuckles.

 

Archie started his cool bass and the snaps of Josie followed. The def beat of drums came next and then the trumpet jumped in, slick and distinct. When Josie started rapping the crowd was already swaying to the groove.

 

It was so jam and fantastic that Betty almost forgot Jughead was running his hand against the skin of her waist, apparently over his earlier qualms of touching.

 

The operative word being _almost_. His touch sent goosebumps up her back, pleasantly.

 

Josie, Val, and Melody rapped most of the song, but towards the close, Archie started rapping himself, and he had a surprising amount of flow.

 

Archie finished the song with his riff and took the whole thing home. The crowd cheered appreciatively, Betty and Jughead with them. Josie started introducing a new song, one that wasn’t a cover, and they started playing their original material.

 

“So I get it, now,” Betty told Jughead with a small grin, jerking her head in Archie’s direction. “Why girls go crazy for him.”

 

He smirked. “Most girls get it the moment they lay eyes on him.”

 

She didn’t want to come out and tell Jughead that she did dismiss Archie for sounding like a dumb jock. He already knew that, anyway, but she did want to tell Jughead that she only had eyes for _him_ , and not just because of the way he looked. “I was distracted by your brain.”

 

He seemed to like that a lot, because his hand rubbed higher up her spine. She leaned closer against him until her entire arm was resting on his thigh and knee.

 

At the end of their first set, Archie waved at Jughead, and Jughead waved back. They seemed to communicate with their minds because they nodded to one another and Jughead began to usher her out of the amphitheater.

 

“They’ve got another hour to go before they complete their show,” Jughead explained. “Care to take a walk?”

 

She’d be down for anything with him. She took his offered hand and they walked along the High Line.

 

“So if October’s your birthday,” she said in a teasing tone. “It’s coming up.”

 

He chuckled. “I told you--it’s not my favorite thing. I don’t like celebrating it.”

 

“Are you just saying that but secretly like it?”

 

“No, I seriously don’t like celebrating my birthday. I’m telling you, having more than Archie and Jellybean around for it upsets me.”

 

She looked at him askance. “Why?”

 

“When you’re a kid,” he began. “A birthday is when your expectations for how people will treat you rise, which means that when people, say, forget, or do something shitty to you on that day, of all days, the disappointment is that much worse. That’s how birthdays were for me for many years--spectacular disappointments. Just--one after another. Dad forgot because he was in jail that night, or mom didn’t bother because she was working that evening, or I was alone because both parents were doing God knows what, so yeah, birthdays sucked for me.”

 

“Well, don’t you think it could only get better?”

 

Jughead shook his head. “If I keep it low key like that, always, then it will never be as bad as before.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’d bake you a cake or something but I don’t know when your birthday is.”  

 

“October 2nd.”

 

She paused, wondering momentarily if he really said it or if she imagined it. He didn’t say it again, but he was smirking and she wanted to believe that it was real.

 

“You promised food,” he said by way of explanation.

 

Laughing softly, she did make a note that food was the way to getting Jughead to open up.

 

She led them to the railing where she can see the city line, the lights of skyscrapers twinkling against the canvas of night.

 

She took a deep breath of the cool night air. Her shoulder pressed against Jughead’s through the fabric of their jackets and she thought about all the things he’d said to her that evening. There were many things that stuck and things that she could unpack at her leisure later, but the one question that was burning in her mind was his being in a gang.

 

“So what was being in the gang like?” she asked. “For you, I mean.” She remembered _her_ gang acquaintances—maybe friends, how they weren’t quite angels--just tough enough to sell marijuana and demolish someone’s car if they didn’t pay up, or maybe unruly enough to vandalize someone’s property. Petty theft was definitely part of their daily lives and they always got hauled in for some kind of public disturbance.  They were always just shy of the bigger crimes, but certainly, they didn’t deserve jail for something they didn’t do, which is why Betty fought to exonerate them. She wondered if Jughead’s experience was the same as theirs.

 

He kept his gaze on the city. “Seemed okay at the time.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Dad was the president and I was his son. He didn’t want me involved when he was running the show but when he got thrown in jail and the gang gave me a jacket, telling me they’d help me and protect me, it was a no brainer. I had to help them out with whatever they did. They made me do the smaller stuff--standing around and looking intimidating when they collected debts, that sort of thing. I don’t know for what those debt were, but I was there for the shakedowns and I didn’t want to know why.”

 

When he fell silent, she asked him if they made him carry a gun.

 

He didn’t reply immediately, but when he said, “Yeah,” she thought she might stop her line of questioning to think about how far she wanted to go.

 

Did she really want to know?  It felt like a compulsion in her that needed to be satisfied, because she needed to know how much she could tell him and how much of her he could take.

 

Most importantly, she wanted to know if she could get him in trouble by telling him her secrets.

 

She knew that when guns were involved, that was more serious than petty theft and vandalism, but she wasn’t judging him. Far from it. He had been fifteen and he needed money to care for himself and his sister. She would have done exactly the same, whatever it was.

 

“And when your book was published…?”

 

“I stopped,” he said immediately. “I told them I was out.”

 

“And they let you?”

 

He nodded sullenly. “I guess so. They didn’t call me for a job again. They knew I wouldn’t rat--I was my father’s son after all. Cops came to me all the time with questions, but I never told them anything and I wasn’t going to start doing that once I was out of the gang. But like I said, you’re never really out _out._ You can always jump right back in and they wouldn’t blink. You’d be back in the thick of it two minutes later.”

 

She thought about what he said and she must have been quiet for too long, because he nudged her with his shoulder and smirked.

 

“Are you interested in joining the Serpents?” he asked, jokingly.

 

She chuckled. “I don’t know if I would be good at it.”

 

“I bet you can do whatever you put your mind to, Betty Cooper.” He said this in all seriousness, without laughing or grinning, and she could tell he absolutely believed it.

 

*********************

 

When Jughead brought her home, he walked her up the seven flights of stairs, which he didn’t have to, but did. As before, he was slightly winded by the time they got to her floor. She was a bit winded herself, and she laughed at the moisture on his temples that came so easily.

 

She reached out and rubbed the sweat from his temple delicately with her finger.

 

“I run hot,” he said.

 

_Control yourself, Cooper._

 

“Oh, yes you do,” she whispered, taking the collars of his jacket in her fists, and pulling him to her until her back was flush against her front door.

 

“Are you going to invite me inside?” he asked, softly, one hand up against the door behind her and the other sliding around the bare skin of her waist.

 

She shook her head. “I’ve got an early panel to attend tomorrow.”

 

He smirked and their noses were practically touching. “You’re ditching me for school. Again.”

 

“We’re in college. We’re here to study, aren’t we?”

 

“I know what I want to study,” he whispered, hoarsely.  

 

His mouth found hers and their tongues tangled slowly. It was a gentle massage that was slowly gaining heat and intensity.   

 

Her fingertips trailed up his jaw and she felt his arms surrounding her, pulling her closer. She moaned softly into his mouth and she could feel his lips stretching into a small smile.

 

Some part of her wanted to tell him that she’d been wanting him like this all night, that everything he’d said and done made her want to continue where they left off in that storage closet.

 

On the other hand, she didn’t want the signals to get too muddled. She wanted Jughead Jones for longer than what would undoubtedly be a spectacular romp in the sack.

 

It was challenging, however, to control herself when his lips were trailing slowly down her throat. “Juggie,” she whispered in his ear. “That feels really good.”

 

She felt the gentle suction of his lips on her pulse. She sighed, pulling him even closer. His arms came around her, his palms flat on the skin of her back. She felt his tongue tasting the skin of her throat and she closed her eyes to savor that touch.

 

“Yes, it does,” he said barely breaking his stride as he lifted her by her thighs and wrapped her legs around him. She wasn’t the only one, it seems, who wanted that closet momentum back.

 

She didn’t resist, at first, and she took his face between her hands so she can kiss him harder. Against her better judgement, she gave a hesitant little roll of her hips, causing him to jerk and bang her back against the door as he pressed his covered erection against her.

 

God, she hadn’t expected that intense reaction to such a small movement.

 

She moaned at the unbelievable sensation of his hardness pressing against that aching softness between her legs. Desire coursed through her and she whimpered when his hand cupped her breast to caress a stiffening peak.

 

“Juggie,” she sighed in a pleading tone between kisses.

 

“Tell me what you want,” he said in a low, desperate whisper.

 

What she wanted was to calm herself down and tell him to take it slow.

 

She was really screwing this up.

 

She tore her lips from him and breathed. “I want to see you tomorrow.”

 

“Not a problem,” he said, gruffly, his lips reaching for hers.

 

She couldn’t believe what she was doing, but she slid her hands up against his shoulders and resisted. “On campus,” she said, quietly. “After a 10AM International Reporting panel that I’m attending.”

 

The pressure of his body against her hands eased, and she could hear his deep breathing. Felt it against the rise and fall of her palms as he looked up at her face. They stayed that way for several seconds.

 

“Juggie?” she asked, tentatively. She had no reason to think he would be angry, but she treaded lightly nevertheless.

 

“I’m going to need a really cold shower after that.”

 

She giggled with relief. “Me, too.”

 

He set her down gently but he didn’t back away just yet. He was still close enough to kiss, his lips tantalizingly hovering over hers.

 

She smiled and gently, she pushed. He backed away with an exaggerated look of despair.

 

“So close,” he moaned.

 

“You know the real reason I’m doing this, right?” she said in a slightly apologetic tone.

 

“Too much curry?” he asked.

 

She laughed, but when she looked him in the eyes, she was serious. “Because I really, really like you and I don’t want you to be a one-night thing.”

 

He cocked a smile as he gave a great big sigh. “I’m not that kind of guy, you know. Aside from my sexual history being embarrassingly short, I don’t ghost the women I sleep with, first date or tenth.”

 

She grinned and turned to unlock her door. “Tomorrow, at 11? JDJ Lecture Hall.”

 

“We’ll grab lunch,” he said without a second’s hesitation.

 

She wondered for a bit whether that would count as a second date, when she could officially check it off as Date 2 in the Third Date is for Sex rule.

 

It then occurred to her that if she didn’t check herself with these stupid rules, she would begin to spiral again.

 

So quieting her mind, she merely said, “Can’t wait,” with her back to the door as she pushed it open. “Goodnight, Juggie.”

 

“‘Night, gorgeous.” He backed away towards the stairs.

 

She stepped into her apartment, watching him go, and only after he turned to take the stairs down did she finally close the door.

 

****************

 

Fifteen minutes later, Betty received a message on her WeChat app.

 

_You in @HardtoGet?_

 

She looked at the screen of her phone, then she looked at her clock. It was just past 12:30.

 

_Where’s it at @Hans0to60?_

 

_Washington Heights._

 

She sat there, considering. She hadn’t gone in a couple of months. She had abstained specifically because school was a priority for her, but just like always, she felt that itch she couldn’t scratch, felt that chaos roiling and building inside her and needing release. And she knew that the exhilaration was far, far better than the pain ever was.

 

She looked at her schoolwork, done but not perfect.

 

It’ll have to do.

 

 _I’m in,_ she types.

 

Quietly, she grabbed the keys from inside her dresser drawer and tried to sneak out of their apartment.

 

She was halfway to the door when the room was suddenly bathed in light.

 

“You better be sneaking out to go to Jughead, miss,” came Kevin’s stern voice.

 

Betty gasped and turned. She could feel the heat rise in her face. “G-go back to sleep, Kevin,” she said, softly, though her heart was hammering in her chest.

 

Kevin scowled, shaking his head. “Girl—“

 

“It’ll just be for a couple of hours,” she said, already backing up to get closer to the door.

 

Kevin, rumpled from sleep in his shirt and boxers, took a step forward. “You said you were going to cut back on this, B. You promised—“

 

“I never promised!” she interrupted, desperately. She was only slightly flustered, so she fell back on her tried and tested argument. “I need this, Kev. You know I do.”

 

“You were doing okay without it!”

 

She almost wanted to tell him that he knew that wasn’t true. “Just one run and I’ll head back home, I promise.”

 

Kevin’s lips tightened to a line. “Give me a minute, Betty. I’m going with you.”

 

“Please don’t. I’ll be fine. I always am.” She backed up even further. Her hand was on the doorknob now.

 

Kevin shook his head. “Betty Cooper, if you run out that door, I will call Chic and tell on you!”

 

She gave him an apologetic look. He always threatened that. He never did it, because he knew how much this meant to her, and how much it helped. He understood how it saved her countless times and yeah, she knew acutely how he remembered those days—when she fell apart and a single wrong sigh or careless look made her spill and scatter. This was what kept her together and he knew it in his bones. He let her have this because he was just as afraid as she was that her demons would catch up on her again.

 

“Kev, hon… I’m sorry. I love you for letting me do this. You know that, right?”

 

Kevin’s face crumpled, and he rushed her, enfolding her in his arms. “Give me two minutes and I’ll get dressed, okay? Two minutes, and you don’t have to go alone.”

 

She gave him a little smile. She said nothing as he hurriedly went to his room, chattering about how he didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, anyway, and that she could tell him all about her date with Jughead on their way to the location.

 

Betty loved Kevin, which was why she always spared him the risk when she can. She never wanted him to get in trouble on her account. Whispering an apology he couldn’t hear, she slipped out of the door and rushed down the stairs.

 

She was in the lobby and out in the streets, hailing a cab before Kevin even realized she was gone.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I worked in publishing for about 8 years so I have seen 18 - 21 year old authors get published for their extraordinary work. I certainly know how much they got paid and how interestingly earnest they are compared to their more senior counterparts.


	5. Gamer Gal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead learns more things about Betty and they are constantly interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a long one, but I hope you think it's worth the read.

 

 

I'm a blond bimbo girl, in a fantasy world

Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly

You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamor in pink

Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky

You can touch

you can play

if you say "I'm always yours"

\--Barbie Girl, by Aqua

  
  


Betty could hardly keep her eyes open during the panel discussion, and she wondered, yet again, why she did this to herself. Why did she give in to her compulsions even knowing that she would pay for it in the morning? She hadn’t gotten back to the apartment until 5. She was able to catch about three-and-a-half hours of sleep, which she thought was sufficient given that she just had to sit and listen to the panel. She had wanted the extra credit for class, but considering she was probably going to ace it, she probably could have skipped this panel and gotten a bit more sleep.

 

She glanced at her watch and willed herself to get through the last ten minutes without incident. If she could just keep her eyes open the next ten minutes, she could keep running on adrenaline until she could get another shot of coffee in her system.

 

It wasn’t the most ideal way to cope with sleep loss. Caffeine wasn’t exactly recommended for the likes of her, but if she wanted to see Jughead and have a proper conversation with him over lunch, she needed some of her faculties to be functioning.

 

She had been her best self last night and she didn’t want to ruin that impression too much by being a complete zombie this morning.

 

But wow, did she feel completely wiped out. She had managed to avoid Kevin this morning, leaving before he woke. It was probably her avoidance of Kevin that prompted her to leave for the panel, anyway. He had texted her last night, furious that she had left him, and all she could really do was apologize, over and over. 

 

Eventually, his anger had morphed into worry, as was his usual pattern, and she apologized for that, too. When he got to bargaining, she felt even worse. 

 

**_Next time, please, please tell me when you’re feeling run over._ **

 

**_We will get through it together._ **

 

**_We’ve done it before, right? We’re Bevin._ **

 

**_You gotta let me help you._ **

 

**_Worse comes to worse, let me go with you._ **

 

**_I’d really prefer you don’t go alone to these things._ **

 

She had watched his texts fill her phone screen and she couldn’t bring herself to reply. What could she say that she hadn’t told him already?

 

She just wanted Kevin to live his life without having to worry about her all the time. 

 

She looked at her phone again and saw that Veronica had texted. Some of her anxiety melted away and a small smile crept up her lips.

 

**_How did it go?!?_ **

 

She was too tired to go into details right now but knew that Veronica would kill her if she went with some generic reply. At the same time, she wanted to keep it vague enough to be respectful of Jughead. 

 

It was entirely true what she told him last night. He wasn’t just an overnight lay, so she didn’t, for instance, want to go blab to Veronica and Kevin that sometimes, she got wet just talking to him and that the feel of his rough hands against her skin made her dizzy. 

 

Neither did she want to tell them about his more personal history, either. He had told her that in confidence and she wanted to respect that, too. She wanted to curate the story she told her best friends, because she wanted to know more about Jughead Jones. But she lacked sleep, and her brain was incapable of nuances. She was going to fuck it all up and it would all be over, so she kept it short: 

 

**_Will tell you more later but in summary: it was the best date I’ve ever been in and jughead jones is taking over my thoughts right now_ **

 

The amount of heart-eye emoticons, smiley-faces, and of course, a couple of eggplants (much to Betty’s mortification), came as a reply. 

 

Betty giggled as she invited Veronica to their apartment later in the evening.

 

**_Bring Cheryl if she doesn’t mind hanging in our poor decrepit apartment._ **

 

Veronica sent an eye-roll emoji.  **_Aiyayay, if I let her walk up seven flights of stairs, she will never let me hear the end of it._ **

 

The panel finally ended and she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

 

As she stepped out of the lecture hall, she scanned the moving crowd for Jughead’s tall form. She didn’t see him at first, and she was just about to text him, asking if he changed his mind, when  _ he  _ found her, surprising her as he came up behind her.

 

“Juggie!” she gasped, smiling. 

 

He grinned, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans. “You’re looking a little spaced out. Rough night?”

 

For a moment, she nonsensically wondered if he was asking because he  _ knew,  _ but then he had that teasing grin on his face, and she was so relieved that she wrapped her arms around his middle affectionately and smiled up at him. “Very rough. I had homework to finish.”

 

He smirked, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Well, I had to shower. For a long time. On cold. We’re talking brink of hypothermia here.”

 

Giggling, she seriously began to wonder if just inviting him into the apartment last night wouldn’t have been better for her, anyway. But as she looked up into his gorgeous blue eyes, knowing that there were depths to it that she wanted to explore further, she was glad again that she made him go home. 

 

“Did Archie give you a hard time this morning?” she asked, softly.  

 

Jughead shook his head and pinched her chin tenderly. “He didn’t. Archie knows when to stop dude-bro-ing. Besides, with the way he played that double bass last night,  _ someone  _ was bound to fuck him. He wasn’t home.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. And then she yawned, and Jughead’s eyebrow raised questioningly. 

 

“Seriously, I stayed up way past midnight,” she explained, as truthfully as she could. “So if I yawn or space out, it’s not because you’re boring me, it’s because my brain is shutting down.”

 

Jughead looked slightly concerned. “Well, we don’t  _ have  _ to go to lunch. If you want to catch up on some sleep, we can have lunch some other time.”

 

“No, no. I was looking forward to this all morning,” she said, before she could really edit herself. Her brain was definitely running on fumes. 

 

He smirked, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, were you?”

 

Her face felt like a furnace. “God, you’d think I’d play  _ a little  _ hard to get, right? Or is that just bullshit at this point?”

 

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give, Cooper,” he whispered in her ear. 

 

She bit her lip as she smiled up at him, feeling a pleasant warmth in her chest. 

 

Unexpectedly, he leaned over and gave her a deep, twist-her-panties kiss that she was completely incapable of resisting. She hadn’t even realized she had her hands in his hair until he pulled away. “Now that  _ that’s  _ out of the way,” he whispered. “We can go to lunch.”

 

***************

 

They had lunch at a nearby ramen place, which made her marvel at how much of a foodie Jughead was. 

 

While he claimed that burgers were still his favorite food, he was yet to suggest a basic burger place, or even just a pizza place. She wasn’t complaining. She had wanted someone unpredictable and here he was.

 

Their riveting conversation at lunch had to do with their respective heroes and inspirations growing up.

 

“Let’s be clear,” he said. “There’s a difference between a hero and an inspiration. Like, I’d say Hitchcock’s an inspiration, but I wouldn’t call him my hero. The guy was an unapologetic dick. Then of course, there’s the line in the sand when it comes to guys like Roman Polanski, who make my skin crawl no matter how acclaimed their work is.”

 

If it were in any way permissible, she could have just perched her chin on her palm and listened to him speak like this, but even in her state of intellectual bliss, she was feeling a little bit provocative, so she played a bit of the Devil’s Advocate for argument’s sake.

 

How they eventually got to the topic of Rom-Coms and its function in culture, she didn’t know, but she was there for it, even as she yawned for the umpteenth time.

 

He laughed. “You need a nap, like ASAP.”

 

She nodded, unable to deny it as she yawned, yet again. “I know. As fascinating as all this is, my systems are shutting down.”

 

“Let’s get the check and I’ll walk you home,” he said, getting their server’s attention.

 

Her apartment was about six blocks and one avenue away, which wasn’t a totally short walk, but the distance was welcome because she enjoyed his company. 

 

She threaded her fingers through his and there was no hesitation on his part, his hand fitting itself into hers willingly throughout their walk.

 

As they neared her apartment, she compulsively asked him if he wanted to go inside with her.

 

When his eyebrow arched questioningly, she shyly added, “Just to hang for a bit, maybe? We can stream a Nora Ephron movie and settle our debate about Rom-Coms...

 

She wondered when she became so needy. She also wondered whether she was using Jughead as a shield. 

 

Guilt lanced through her then and she began to walk back her invitation. “No pressure! Sorry, that was presumptuous of me, like I didn’t even ask if you had other plans—“

 

“It’s fine, Betts,” he interjected. “I probably need to hit the books, but I think I can bear to spend another hour with you.”

 

His teasing tone made her even guiltier. She hated herself at that moment. She managed a small smile as she led him up to her apartment.

 

“God, those stairs,” Jughead muttered as they finally reached their landing. 

 

It was beginning to feel like a running joke, really.

 

***************

 

Kevin was awake when she and Jughead arrived at her apartment. Kevin had just rolled out of bed, a mug of piping hot coffee in his hands, and when he saw them, his furious stare made her a bit afraid that he would rip into her regardless of whether Jughead was there or not.

 

But then, he said—

 

“I can’t believe you brought a guy in here before this is ready to face the world,” Kevin said, circling his face with his finger. “I would never do that to you, my love. What have I done to deserve this treatment?”

 

She could barely conceal the relief on her face. “Sorry, Kev, but you really have nothing to worry about. You look great even straight outta bed, right Juggie?”

 

“Fucking beautiful,” Jughead replied, straight-faced.

 

Kevin shot Jughead a deadly look and Betty had to fight to stifle her giggle.

 

She hung up her coat and plopped herself on the couch. “We’re watching a Nora Ephron movie on Netflix.. Wanna join?”

 

Kevin rolled his eyes in disgust. “Ugh. I’d rather take a cheese grater to my face.”

 

As much as she and Kevin loved each other, they never agreed on rom-coms. 

 

Jughead hung his own coat up and set his laptop bag down by the coffee table, joining Betty on the couch. “Your loss, dude.”

 

She giggled as Kevin threw Jughead a sidelong glance.

 

“I’ll be in my room,” Kevin said. “No hanky panky in the living room. I can’t bleach that couch.”

 

“Kev,” she said in a warning tone.

 

His only response was the slamming of his door. So maybe Kevin was still a little miffed with her. She couldn’t blame him.

 

She played the movie and then tucked herself under the crook of Jughead’s arm, snuggling comfortably in his embrace.

 

He chuckled. “I’m going to make a bet with you.”

 

“A bet?”

 

“Yeah. Fifteen minutes, tops. You’ll be out like a light.”

 

“Challenge accepted, Jones.”

 

She figured it wasn’t entirely cheating if she started making out with him. And it wasn’t as if Jughead was going to complain.

 

So she moved herself up against him, rubbed her hand on his flat stomach, and pressed her mouth to his. He didn’t resist in the least, smiling into the kiss as he tightened his hold on her shoulders and their tongues rolled lazily against each other. 

 

She moaned against his lips and his hand began to slide down her ass when the sound of Kevin’s door opening cut through the haze.

 

“You know, I changed my mind!” Kevin declared, barrelling into the living room and sitting his butt down on the sofa chair nearby. “I think I feel like watching some stupid rom-coms.”

 

Betty pursed her lips. She supposed she deserved this. Kevin knew it, too, judging by the challenging look he threw in her direction. 

 

Jughead, however, looked like Kevin had slapped him in the face. It would’ve been funny if Betty didn’t know that Kevin was doing it because he had probably worked himself into some kind of lather between her walking into the apartment and him stewing in his bedroom. 

 

_ “Sleepless in Seattle?”  _ Kevin had asked. “I was expecting you two kids would go for  _ When Harry Met Sally.” _

 

“That’s for another day,” she said, softly, barely realizing that she had basically assumed Jughead would be sticking around for more movies in the future. 

 

She peeked at Jughead and saw that he was smirking, which made her bite her lip to keep from grinning.

 

As the movie began playing, Kevin predictably began ripping into it and Jughead gamely encouraged hilarious discussion with his responses.

 

Betty would’ve jumped right in but she was so comfortable in Jughead’s embrace that she very quickly drifted off to sleep.

 

***************

 

Betty took up space. Five minutes into deep slumber and she had Jughead shoved up against the far end of the couch. 

 

“Do you still want to watch this?” Jughead asked Kevin.

 

“Without Betty to listen to me trash it? Not worth it,” Kevin said. “I’m going to whip up a late lunch from the fridge. Want some, Jones?”

 

Jughead thought about it, briefly. He’d had ramen for lunch, sure, but it wasn’t like he was  _ completely  _ full. And while he did have school work to catch up on, it wouldn’t kill his GPA if he took another half hour to have a snack. 

 

“Baked ziti,” Kevin said. “Betty made a ton the other night and it’s delicious.”

 

Archie had told him before that he had no shame when it came to food and Jughead had to admit that was true in most cases.

 

“Sold,” Jughead said, carefully easing himself out of the couch. He gently tucked a pillow under her head and looked around for something to put over her. There was a throw artfully draped on the back of the couch and he pulled it over her body to keep her warm.

 

“God, you’re fucking precious,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes. “Give me a couple of minutes to throw the ziti in the microwave.”

 

“Need my help with anything?” Jughead asked, walking up to the extended kitchen counter where there were bar stools.  

 

“You just sit your pretty little ass down and brace yourself for the talking-to of your life, Jones.”

 

Jughead detected just a hint of menace and intimidation and he sighed softly.  “Right.”

 

Kevin didn’t say much as he worked and Jughead took a moment to look in the direction of the living room, which was just really a few feet away. Betty had shifted in her sleep, her back to them on the couch.

 

He didn’t know much about Kevin and Betty’s relationship, except that they were best friends, but it was plain to see that they cared deeply about one another.

 

Kevin shot him a pointed look, like a warning. For what, Jughead didn’t know, but not many people can scare him in this point of his life. He’d faced leather-clad bikers and Godless drug dealers, all of whom carried firearms and were never afraid to use them.  He’d gotten beaten up by grown men and stood at the front lines of territory wars. He didn’t intimidate easily with tough guys. 

 

People did not scare him.

 

It was relationships that made him queasy. His strategy for the most part had been: Let them in slowly.  He’d been burned in the past. He’d learned his lessons. 

 

But again:  _ Betty changed everything.  _

 

She was an enigma and he wanted to uncover her mystery. So yeah, as painful as it was to step away from her last night, he didn’t want her to think he was just a one-night affair, either. He would be taking his cues from her, because he didn’t want to screw this up.

 

As a person who grew up accustomed to disappointment and short-term, unreliable relationships, having someone trying to set up something she believed could be more was slightly unfamiliar, but it was pleasant, and he was there for it. 

 

That she opened herself up to him last night was a level of intimacy that had him reeling, but it was a surprise, even to him, how it didn’t send him running. Maybe it was his own sense of self--he knew he had a tough past. He knew he had baggage and maybe even a bit of trauma, and if Betty had had a pristine past, he’d have been more afraid that she couldn’t handle him and basically send his heart crashing to the ground at the first sign of trouble.

 

It was also true that hearing her say, “I was distracted by your brain,” was possibly the best thing a woman has ever said about him. He would take that any day over sheer physical attraction. 

 

He had been a lanky teenager, arguably not the most attractive guy in a party, and while he was too busy surviving to care so much about girls and who was dating who, he had rolled his eyes at the relationships that had beautiful people pairing up while they sat together, not talking, because they were twiddling with their phones. What the fuck was the point of dating someone if you couldn’t have interesting conversations with them?  

 

Of course he quickly became disabused by the notion of everyone dating for purposes of intellectual stimulation, but that nugget of truth didn’t exactly help him dating-wise, and he just got accustomed to the fact that Archie would be a more prolific dater than he would ever be.  

 

Betty telling him that she barely glanced Archie’s way because his  _ brain distracted her-- _ he was floored. Probably done for. 

 

The chime of the microwave pulled him out of his thoughts and Kevin took out a steaming bowl of baked ziti. The smell of creamy cheese and marinara alone was probably enough to make up for the discomfort that was bound to beset him during Kevin’s impending interrogation.

 

“Had fun on your date last night, Forsythe?” Kevin asked, spooning some of the pasta in a separate bowl.

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jughead replied, appreciating the aroma of the food as Kevin set the bowl in front of him.  

 

Kevin nodded, handing him a fork. “Which can mean one of a couple of things--one, you had a fabulous time last night and would actually like to spend more time with Betty, or two, I know she didn’t fuck you last night and so you would eventually like to get there.”

 

Jughead had to admit that this line of questioning was a bit more straightforward than he expected.

 

“Well, which is it, Jones?” Kevin asked, testily.

 

_ Okay then,  _ he thought. He could be just as straightforward. “Both. It’s both.”

 

Kevin looked slightly taken aback and Jughead turned his attention to the pasta to keep himself from smirking triumphantly. 

 

Kevin recovered and his lips straightened to a stiff line. “Ballsy of you.”

 

Jughead shrugged, shoving pasta in his mouth. “It’s the truth. What else you got, Keller?”

 

Kevin scowled. “This isn’t a joke, Jones. I take Betty’s well-being seriously. We’ve been watching out for each other since we were eight and I don’t know how much she’s told you about her life, but I was there for her through the best and worst of it. So I need to know what’s up. If you go shady on my girl, I will end you. Painfully. Got it?”

 

Jughead had dealt with people who made grave threats so he knew Kevin wasn’t playing, and maybe he didn’t want to find out exactly what Kevin could do, either.  Jughead was fairly certain Kevin wasn’t talking about fisticuffs. This was Kevin, the guy who traded favors at the administration building, the guy who guarded Betty like a dragon, the dude who knew how to circumvent his Sheriff father. He didn’t beat people up, he  _ ruined  _ them.  

 

Jughead nodded, sighing quietly. “Got it.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“I know you are, Keller.” He studied Kevin’s demeanor and he was a little surprised at the look on Kevin’s face. Mixed with Kevin’s conviction was  _ worry,  _ and Jughead didn’t know if he should be amused or insulted. 

 

Kevin sniffed. “You seem like a nice guy, Jughead, and honestly, I dated a guy in a gang, so your Southside Serpent jacket doesn’t scare me, but I just want to let you know that you don’t know half of what Betty’s been through. You may think you do, but you don’t. So if this is all a game to you, just leave now, while it’s early.”

 

So maybe Jughead was leaning more towards insulted now, but he couldn’t fault Kevin for being protective. Jughead had a little sister. He knew what that was like.  

 

“I have no idea how far Betty wants to take things,” Jughead said. “But I don’t want to see it end anytime soon. I either care, disproportionately, or I give zero fucks. I don’t  _ maybe.  _ She’s more likely to break my heart than the other way around, Keller.”

 

Kevin eyed him intently. “We’ll see, Jones. I’ll be watching you in a totally un-weird way.”

 

“Okay,” Jughead refrained from saying that Kevin’s unwavering stare was weirding him out a little, already.  

 

They finished their pasta and Jughead helped put the bowls away in the dishwasher.  

 

Betty didn’t look like she was going to wake up anytime soon so he began to beg his leave.  

 

“I gotta eat and run,” Jughead said, retrieving his laptop bag from the living room. “I have a shit ton of papers to start on and a lot of reading to finish.”

 

“Sure, Jones. Just remember what I said.”

 

“Hard to forget,” Jughead muttered under his breath.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

A soft dinging sound floated into his hearing. As Jughead pulled the strap of his laptop bag over his head, the dinging slowly began to gain frequency.  He scrambled for his phone but it wasn’t his. 

 

It was coming from under Betty’s blanket on the couch. She began to stir and the instinct to let her sleep was surprisingly strong in him.  He lifted the edge of the blanket and found her phone tucked between the couch and her elbow. 

 

He grabbed it before it could wake her. It buzzed with texts and it was making a racket, message after message scrolling up on her screen.

 

_ @Hans0to60 Damn gurl! That was some Mario Kart killer moves! We missed you! You in next trip? _

 

_ @Painisonlythebeginning Missed those moves, mami! Most def worth the wait! _

 

_ @Str8tupTurbo @DomShizzle still licking his wounds. Don’t stop playing, please111  _

 

_ @Arrow987 Shit @HardtoGet. Fuck. Just wow. _

 

_ Dreamin’ about you @HardtoGet u so fyn _

 

The texts were pouring in, all in a similar vein, and some grossly explicit.  Jughead was beginning to think he had stumbled upon Betty’s secret gamer life. 

 

“Why so serious, Jones?” Kevin asked, startling Jughead from his highly inappropriate investigation of Betty’s phone. 

 

“Um, Betty’s phone. It was causing a racket. I didn’t want it to wake her up.” He handed the phone over to Kevin.  

 

Kevin glanced at it briefly, pursed his lips, then put the phone away.  “She’s a heavy sleeper. Nothing short of an earthquake can wake her up.”

 

Jughead’s mind was already wandering. He tried to figure out  if he saw a console anywhere, and it was hard to figure that Kevin had a hidden system in his room.  

 

He couldn’t help but wonder if Betty had been playing some video game all night last night, hence her losing sleep, but then again, it would be too depressing to think that she gave up sleeping with him to play video games, even if she did turn him down for other reasons. 

 

“Good to know. Hey listen, you wouldn’t happen to have a gaming console lying around here, would you?”

 

“What are you talking about? You’re not one of those guys who recruit to storm some virtual castle, are you?”

 

“Hey, that’s a real strategy!”

 

“Yeah, if you never want to get laid, ever.”

 

Jughead smirked, in spite of himself. “I bet Betty would storm a castle with me.”

 

Kevin chuckled and rolled his eyes, but his lack of protest made Jughead think that Betty Cooper, or even Kevin, wasn’t above World of Warcraft. 

 

“Please, she’s more FemShep than Draenei.”

 

Jughead chuckled. “I knew it! You play World of Warcraft, don’t you?”

 

Kevin made an annoyed sound. “Oh, once upon a time. It was a while back, but yes, I stormed. Betty was more Mass Effect and Dragon Age.”

 

“So you have a console hidden here somewhere?”

 

Kevin scoffed. “As if. We can’t do that anymore, Jughead. We’re not in high school!”

 

“Hey, Arch and I still have a PS4 at our place!”

 

“I’m just saying.”  

 

Jughead shook his head and turned to leave. “I gotta take my geeky self out of here before your hate stomps away my inner Gnome.”

 

Kevin actually chuckled, which was the most Jughead had ever gotten out of him.  

 

Jughead said his goodbyes and let himself out.  It was interesting information to think about, that Betty once played video games. But if she doesn’t anymore, it didn’t explain those texts. He didn’t want to follow this rabbit down the hole, but he had seen those texts by accident and now those were stuck in his brain. What did they mean? 

 

He was just going to have to ask her and he had to word it so that he didn’t sound completely psycho. Betty has now firmly established real estate in his mind and she isn’t going away for a while. 

 

Exiting her apartment building, he sent her a text.

 

**_Had to go. Had revealing conversations with Kevin so I hope to see you soon to regale your adventures in Mass Effect._ **

 

Satisfied, he tucked his phone into his pocket and headed home.

 

***************

 

When Jughead walked into their apartment, Archie was back from his night out, freshly bathed and apparently air-drying himself.

 

“Hey, Jug,” Archie greeted, hunched over his phone on the counter. He was barechested with his bathroom towel wrapped around his waist. His body was riddled with hickeys.

 

Jughead flopped on the couch and sighed. “Jeez, man. Did you sleep with leeches last night?”

 

Archie grinned. “Val may have been a bit enthusiastic.”

 

That’s more than what Jughead needed to know. “Can you please put some clothes on?  I am perpetually afraid that Jellybean will see you naked. Like, come on, dude.”

 

Archie rolled his eyes, but he did go back to his room, hopefully to put on some pants. 

 

“How’d your date go, by the way?” Archie asked from his bedroom. “You and Betty Cooper looked cozy.”

 

Jughead tried not to let his grin break his face. He set his coat and bag aside and fell back on the couch. “Oh, you know. It was nice.”

 

“Oh,  _ nice,  _ was it?” Archie said, coming out of his room wearing a shirt and jogging pants. He settled on the couch as well, grabbing one of the PS4 remotes and tossing the other to Jughead.  

 

Jughead, once again, put off his studying and fit the remote in his hands. “Betty is super nice.”

 

Archie picked Justice League Injustice on the TV screen. “I bet. Betty Cooper, man. That’s big leagues. Reggie and Trev got into a fight over her the other day.”

 

“What?” Jughead picked Killer Frost as his character. “Was she there when they--?”

 

Archie scoffed, picking Green Lantern. “Naw. She was nowhere near there. Reggie was being his obnoxious self saying he was going to ask Betty out and that she’ll drop you two bozos after he’s done the dirty with her--” he paused “-- _ you know,  _ like sex wise--”

 

“I know what you meant, Archie,” Jughead said irritably. “God, Reggie’s a raging douchebag.”

 

Archie nodded. “Trev got  _ pissed _ . Clocked him in the face and all, and it took the entire football team to stop them both from pummelling one another to bits.”

 

Jughead shook his head. “Seriously ridiculous.”

 

“I’m not going to be the one to tell them that they’re wasting their energies. My man Jughead’s in da house and has it in the bag.”

 

“Dude, can you not refer to it as me having it in the bag? Betty and I get along and I don’t want to fuck it up with Frat Boy lingo, okay?” 

 

The game started and their characters started fighting.

 

“Sure, sure,” Archie said. “So you really like her?”

 

“I really like her.”

 

“Like her, like her? Or like her,  _ like her?” _

 

Jughead pressed his controls earnestly. “Arch, I swear you’re speaking english but I didn’t understand a thing.”

 

Archie was practically hopping on his seat trying his best to keep up with Jughead’s Killer Frost. “Jeez, Jug, you know? Is she just for fun or more than that?”

 

“I don’t know what that even means, Arch. Aren’t you supposed to have fun with the girl you like, anyway? I like her company because she’s fun, among other things. But we both know she’s gorgeous and sexy and smart as hell, too. So how do I answer that?” Jughead delivered the killing blow to Green Lantern and Archie groaned in frustration. 

 

“Did you sleep with her yet?” Archie asked.

 

“In what universe would I answer that? And how is that relevant?”

 

“Do you  _ want _ to sleep with her?”

 

Jughead shot Archie a look, like  _ Do you have to ask? _

 

Archie nodded and reset the game. “Okay, so more than just fun.”

 

Jughead settled back in his seat and realized that Archie was just being his best friend, knowing to ask the questions that would get him, Jughead, to talk. 

 

Archie understood him more than anyone did. He and Archie had practically grown up together, so if anyone had a complete picture of Jughead’s sexual history, it would be Archie. His best friend knew almost everything about him, even some parts of his gap year that he’d rather keep secret from everyone else. Archie knew who his friends in the south side of town were, by name, and he knew the names of the girls he had slept with, even more than Archie knew the girls he slept with himself (though that was probably because Jughead could actually count on one hand who he’d been with, as opposed to Archie, who ran out of fingers and toes halfway through his senior year of high school). 

 

Archie was to him as Kevin Keller was to Betty--the guy who had been there through thick and thin.  And it was Archie, the supposed dumb jock, who told him to submit his manuscripts to literary agents and thereafter try for Columbia.  For all of Archie’s differences with Jughead, he was truly the only other person whom Jughead trusted, and he knew without a doubt that Archie loved him as much as Jellybean loved him. 

 

Which is why he did want Archie to understand that Betty was not just some blonde bombshell. “Yeah, Betty’s--she’s  _ something.  _ She’s different. There’s something about her I couldn’t completely explain.”

 

Archie grinned and slapped his shoulder. “You in love, man?”

 

“Shut up. It’s too soon for that, but I really want to keep seeing her, and it’s not because Reggie and Trev thinks she’s a babe.”

 

“But she is!”

 

Jughead sighed. Sometimes he wanted to hit Archie upside the head. “I know that, idiot, but it’s more than just the way she looks. She and I connect on a level that is way beyond that.”

 

Archie nodded, like he completely understood. “I get it, man.  Every morning, at the crack of dawn, on most days, Betty Cooper runs through the campus like a goddamn champ. At the end of her run, she takes a loop on the track, does an obscene amount of burpees and pushups, and is basically the person our coach points to and says,’Are you going to let a girl beat you on this field?’ She’s, like, on a whole other level, man.”

 

Jughead scowled, his jaw dropping at the sheer disconnect. “That’s not what I’m trying to--you’are all goddamn meatheads, you know that? Betty knows you’re all watching her and it’s making her uncomfortable. You need to quit that shit!”

 

Archie’s eyes glazed over for a second. “But she has those amazing legs.”

 

“Dude!” Jughead gasped in disbelief.

 

Realizing what he just said, Archie waved his own words away. “Sorry, sorry. Force of habit!” 

 

“Did you even hear what I said?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. We need to stop doing that--”

 

“No, not just that. About me and Betty connecting.”

 

“That too, that too.”

 

Sometimes, Archie needed redirecting and Jughead was used to that, so he picked up his original train of thought and continued as if the thing about the football team hadn’t diverted him in the first place. “I almost feel like Betty puts out that Girl Next Door persona for everyone. That over achieving, blonde, pepped up, princess who smiles all the time and inadvertently makes jocks fight over her for her attention.  _ And then  _ there’s the Betty  _ I’m  _ getting to know.” Jughead faced Archie to convey his seriousness. “Remember when I told you she was going to tinker with my motorcycle?”

 

Archie waggled his eyebrows. “How can I forget? I was so proud of you, man.”

 

“Well, FYI, that wasn’t a metaphor. She did an oil change on it. She works as a mechanic.”

 

“Like, she fixes cars and shit?”

 

“That is, literally, the definition of a mechanic.”

 

Archie seemed impressed.  “Was she hot in her mechanic’s uniform?”

 

Jughead sighed and rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to surprise me sometimes, Andrews?”

 

“What? I’m just asking the important questions here!”

 

Jughead shook his head. He had to love this guy not to strangle him. Good natured, kind-hearted, well-intentioned, guileless Archie Andrews.  “Betty Cooper is not who everyone thinks she is, Arch. I want in on that. She’s fascinating and I want to know more.”

 

Archie stared at him for a few seconds, appraising him. “You haven’t talked this much about a girl in--well, you’ve never talked about any girl like this, not even when you were jacking off to Scarlett Johansson.”

 

“Seriously? The one actor I ever jacked off to and you’re not letting it go. You did it, like all the time with different actors and playboy bunnies.”

 

Archie shrugged. “For me it was common, but with you it’s like Halley’s Comet. Once in a lifetime. So have you jacked off to Betty yet?”

 

“Oh, God.” Jughead sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

Archie made an annoyed sound. “Oh, please. We’re brothers here. We tell each other stuff like that. So have you?”

 

“Well--I mean, the cold shower  _ wasn’t helping.” _

 

Archie fell back on the couch and screamed with laughter.

 

Jughead fought the grin that threatened to surface. “Don’t shame me.”

 

As Archie’s laughter calmed to a chuckle, he hit Jughead’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Listen, man. That just tells me how special she is to you, however boneheaded others may think of it. I know you, so I understand. I’m happy for you. I hope it works out.”

 

“Yeah. Me, too.”

 

Later that evening, after he finally retired to his bedroom and opened his books, he received a text message from her.

 

**_I’ve got time tomorrow to release my inner geek. I’ll bring dinner if you have a console. Teach you a lesson._ **

 

Jughead grinned and replied.

 

**_Game on, FemShep. My place tomorrow 7pm. You better bring it, Cooper._ **

 

**_Oh, I’ll bring it. You better watch yourself, Jones._ **

 

**_**************_ **

 

The following day, Jughead spent all afternoon cleaning up their apartment. He hadn’t even realized how unruly it had become until he actually had to start straightening things up. 

 

It was amazing how Archie and Jellybean didn’t make their presence known until Jughead was basically done, showered, and ready to receive Betty. 

 

Having emerged from their respective caves, Archie and Jellybean sat at the kitchen counter, eating some of the chips Jughead had put out.

 

Archie had asked, “Should I vacate the premises?”

 

Jughead scowled. “Don’t be stupid. There’s no need for that.”

 

“I can bring Jellybean with me, if that’s the problem,” Archie insisted.

 

Jellybean frowned. “I’m not leaving the apartment so that my brother can boink his girlfriend with abandon.”

 

“Okay, cool it with the labels,” Jughead said, mildly alarmed. “And what do you know about what Betty and I-- _ don’t you roll your eyes at me, JB!” _

 

“Your sister’s seventeen, dude,” Archie said, checking something on his phone. “At seventeen, I’ve had an affair with a teacher and slept with almost half a dozen girls.”

 

Jughead’s scowl deepened. “Let’s be clear. That is  _ not  _ something to be proud of, Arch. Miss Geraldine ‘Grundy’ Gibson is in jail, because she’s a friggin’ predator.”

 

Archie sighed. “Whatever, man. My point is, JB probably knows a hell of a lot of things about boinking. When I come home with a girl, she puts on her headphones like the perfect roommate that she is.” 

 

He formed a fist and Jellybean bumped it. 

 

“Damn straight,” Jellybean said. “You’re gross, but you’re right. I’m the perfect roommate.” 

 

It was making Jughead anxious, all this talk of him and Betty doing  _ things.  _ “Look,  _ nothing’s  _ going to happen.”

 

“You sure about that? Betty’s coming here to play video games with you and you’ll both be on that couch, competitive as fuck. That’ll get the blood going.”

 

“Yeah, with Jellybean and you in your respective rooms.”

 

“If she doesn’t make you forget that, you’re both doing it wrong.”

 

Archie must have waxed prophetic, because the moment Betty arrived, Jughead forgot everything.

 

She had on a bomber jacket, but underneath that was her FemShep t-shirt, sports shorts, knee high sports socks, and sneakers. Her blonde hair was in pigtails and she had a headset draped around her neck.

 

He had no words for how deadly sexy she looked, and when she pressed herself against him and planted a steamy kiss on his lips as greeting, he lost feeling from the neck down.

 

“Hiya, handsome,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded, their lips still close enough to touch.

 

_ God,  _ he thought. She sure knew how to make a guy feel like a million bucks.

 

He touched the headset around her neck. “What’s this for?”

 

“In case you wanted to storm a castle,” she said, walking in with a huge armload of Chinese food. 

 

She dumped the bags on the counter and Jughead watched her strut in with those fucking amazing legs of hers. He kicked Archie surreptitiously for staring just as hard.

 

Archie jumped in surprise. “Ow--wow! That’s a lot of food!”

 

Betty smiled her thousand watt grin. “You live with Jughead. You should know.”

 

Jellybean, who was watching all this happen, jumped in. “Hi, I’m JB! Jughead’s sister!”

 

Betty took the hand that Jellybean offered. “I’ve heard so much about you. So nice to meet you!”

 

“You’re all Jughead ever talks about.”

 

Betty looked at him with an  _ aw, really?  _ smile.

 

Jughead pursed his lips. “Yeah, thanks for reporting the facts uncensored, Jellybean.”

 

“What?” Jellybean cried.

 

“Are you gaming with us, Jellybean?” Betty asked. 

 

Jughead could distinctly see Jellybean’s eyes lighting up. The apartment was so often filled with dudes, and what women Archie brought home didn’t stick around long enough to get chummy with Jellybean, so having a woman, an older one, ask her if she was going to join them, was a rare delight. 

 

He loved his sister and would give her anything she asked, but this was going to be a tough one. 

 

“I would love to!” Jellybean said, smiling widely. 

 

It took all of Jughead’s willpower not to sigh.  _ I love my little sister. I love my little sister. I love my little sister. _

 

Betty didn’t even blink. “Awesome! What do you usually like to play?”

 

“Homework,” Archie interrupted, staring at Jellybean.  “You told me you had tons of homework.”

 

Jellybean frowned. “I didn’t--”

 

_ “Yesterday,”  _ Archie said with a pointed look.  _ “Remember?” _

 

Jughead could practically hear the protest on Jellybean’s lips, but something must have clicked, because her lips clamped shut and she began to nod. 

 

“Oh, yeah, I did say that,” Jellybean said. “Oh, darn, Betty. I don’t think I can, tonight.”

 

“No? It would’ve been fun. Are you sure you can’t just stick around for a few games?”

 

Jellybean shook her head. “I’ve put it off far too long already.”

 

“You’ll join us for dinner, though, right?  There’s lots of food. You too, Archie. I bought enough for everyone.”

 

“And I can’t wait to have some. I’ll set it up,” Jughead said, grabbing the takeout.

 

“I’ll help,” Archie said, following Jughead to the dining area. 

 

Jellybean practically skipped to Betty and dragged her to the living room couch. 

 

“Man, you freaking owe me,” Archie whispered as he helped Jughead set up the dinner table with the doggie bags, extra bowls, and chopsticks. 

 

Jughead sighed and smirked. “Okay, I do. I kind of feel bad for Jellybean, though. She looked so happy.”

 

“Jellybean can enjoy Betty’s company at dinner, but she’s smart and she loves you. She got the hint and came through. Besides, if it really works out with Betty, they’ll have plenty of time to bond.”

 

He felt a warmth spread over his chest at that thought, but he tried to stamp it down. It was too early to think about things like that. 

 

“Grab some glasses, Jug. I’ll get the ice and sodas. I put that bottle of rosé you bought in the refrigerator for you. It should be cold by the time you and Betty want to get cozy.”

 

One of the many things Archie was great at was getting people together. Archie was the guy in their house for parties, gatherings, and setting the mood when a girl was over, but he was a little surprised that Archie did that for him, however small the gesture. It was almost as if he were being an adult.

 

“That was very--”  _ Grown up.  _ “--considerate of you.” 

 

Archie rolled his eyes, seeing right through him. “I’m a junior now, Jug. Believe it or not, I did mature some since sophomore year.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Jughead said, recovering. “Thanks, man.”

 

Archie grinned and tapped the back of Jughead’s head. “Anytime, champ.” 

 

When everything was in place and the table was set, Archie cried out over his shoulder to the girls. 

 

Jughead looked over and saw that Jellybean was hanging on to everything Betty was saying. Jellybean had girlfriends in school, and she’d brought some home a couple of times, but they were all her age, so they never had this big-sister vibe that Betty was exuding. Jughead could tell that Jellybean was smitten, and it made him feel both queasy and warm inside. 

 

They looked up at Archie’s summons, grins on their faces. Jellybean got up and pulled Betty to her feet by her hands. 

 

Sitting at the kitchen table, Betty gave her compliments to Archie’s bass playing, which led to great conversations about music and the folly of their youth.

 

“I think the worst song I ever liked was Barbie Girl, by Aqua,” Betty admitted sheepishly. 

 

“No!” Jughead cried. “That’s it. I can’t go back from that.”

 

“How can I not like it? The lyrics are amazing!” she argued as she began to sing the first verse in a surprisingly nice voice. “I’m a Barbie Girl in the Barbie World! Life in plastic, it’s fantastic! You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere! Imagination, life is your creation!”

 

Archie nodded in exaggerated surmise. “Not bad, Cooper. Great tone!”

 

“It’s subversive!” she insisted. “I think that aspect of it spoke to me.”

 

Jughead grinned, liking the bubblegum way she executed the song. It helped a lot that she did a sexy shimmy when she got to the part of “undress me everywhere”, but he also couldn’t help but think that Betty liked that song because she saw so much of herself in the entire song lyrics. 

 

_ God, her mother must’ve been awful. _

 

“What’s your worst song, Jughead?” Betty asked, her eyes twinkling. 

 

Jughead smirked and he met eyes with Archie, who banged the table as he laughed. 

 

_ “Don’t Worry Be Happy!”  _ they said together. 

 

Jughead started to whistle the start of the song and Archie jumped in, singing the lyrics in perfect Bobby McFarlane tune, faux Jamaican accent and all. 

 

Betty and Jellybean laughed hysterically.

 

Jellybean went with “Butterfly,” by Crazy Town. “It was super catchy, but God, those lyrics were so damn stupid, I couldn’t even!”

 

“You mean you never saw the sun breaking down in dark clouds?” Betty asked. 

 

“Hey, it’s sexy when you like Sid and Nancy. It’s almost like evil talking about butterflies in your head,” Jughead said with a straight face, causing Betty to break down in a fit of giggles. 

 

“What’s yours, Arch?” Jellybean asked. 

 

Archie sighed, closing his eyes. “There are  _ so many.  _ But the winner for me is,” he paused for dramatic effect. “ _ Can I Touch You… There.” _

 

“Oh my God!” Jellybean cried, whipping out her phone and playing the song on Spotify. The flute at the beginning of the song brought down the house and Archie tried to lipsync the song but it was too awful and he gave up ten seconds in. 

 

Betty covered her ears and laughed. “God, how can you even like that song?”

 

“I was a horny teenager, what can I say?” Archie said unapologetically. 

 

“Ugh, so gross,” Jellybean grumbled as she ate her Kung Pao Chicken. 

 

Dinner and conversation lasted for a little over an hour, and of course they ended it with reading their fortune cookies aloud. After all the fortunes were picked apart and made fun of, Archie gathered his empty doggie bags and began tossing them in the trash. 

 

“Well, I’m peacing out, guys,” he said. “Early day tomorrow at practice.”

 

“G’night, Archie,” Betty said. 

 

Jellybean hopped up to help him. “Yeah. Homework and all. If I don’t see you later, it was nice talking to you, Betty. Are you coming over again?”

 

Betty gave her a dimpled smile. “If your brother invites me, sure.”

 

“Don’t screw this up, Jug,” Jellybean said, jabbing a finger on his shoulder. 

 

Jughead shot her a sidelong glance as he put the empty boxes and plastic containers away. Betty took the bowls to the sink and swept up the last of the refuse.

 

Archie and Jellybean retired to their respective rooms. 

 

“So, fighting game?” Jughead asked.

 

Betty arched an eyebrow. “My specialty. What game do you have?”

 

“Justice League: Injustice.”

 

“My Wonder Woman’s going to beat your ass.”

 

“I’m amazing as Killer Frost, so don’t be so cocky.  Want wine for dessert? Have some in the fridge.”

 

She glared at him. “Are you trying to get me tipsy to throw my game?”

 

Jughead grinned. “Oh, does that work?”

 

Not to be outdone, she huffed and said, “Sure, bring out the wine. I can beat you drunk out of my mind, if I have to.”

 

Smirking, Jughead got out the rosé and grabbed the two wine glasses that had been cleaned and set in the drying rack. Betty, who was in the kitchen watching him do all this, leaned on the counter with an amused grin on her face.  

 

He opened the bottle and poured a couple of glasses of it, then gave her one glass as he took the other. She was sipping the wine before they got to the living room couch, where he took a gulp from his glass, settled himself, and started loading up the game. He handed her a remote. 

 

She took her own hefty gulp of wine, sat on the couch, kicked off her shoes, and swung her legs over his lap, leaning against the couch’s armrest, and making herself comfortable with a pillow on her back. 

 

Jughead was left with the difficult task of not letting her great legs distract him while also feeling the skin of it on his arms and the weight of it on his lap. 

 

“Prepare to die,” she said menacingly, setting the near empty wine glass aside. 

 

He finished his wine and put the glass on the coffee table in front of them. “Oh, we’ll see.”

 

The game started, and Jughead had to admit that Betty knew her moves. He did combination attacks and she deflected many of them quite well, going quickly into counter-attacks. She was a difficult opponent and was much better than Archie, but he did beat her in the first round. 

 

“So you have some skill,” she said, eyeing him askance. 

 

“I’m telling you.”

 

Maybe he got a bit too cocky himself, because she went into the second round and basically wiped the floor with him. In record time.

 

“What the fuck?” Jughead goes. 

 

Betty giggled. “Do you want me to take it down a notch?”

 

“I’ll take  _ you  _ down a notch.”

 

The third round was serious. Having earned their turbos, they used them on each other with practiced skill. It was such a close game that Jughead was on the verge of sticking his tongue out, he was concentrating so hard. 

 

But then her socked foot snaked between his legs to give his crotch a gentle nudge. His dick twitched traitorously in response, which completely derailed his train of thought. Her Wonder Woman immediately delivered an uppercut that sent Killer Frost flying above the skyline and her life meter to zero. 

 

Betty threw back her head and laughed, triumphantly.

 

“Okay, that was totally unfair” he said, tossing the remote aside and making a dive for her. 

 

She shrieked, but when his lips fell upon hers, she didn’t resist, welcoming his tongue completely with her own tongue’s soft caress. She tasted like wine, which was amazing. He felt her arms slide up his shoulders and around his neck as he hovered above her. Supporting some of his weight on one elbow, he slid the other hand down her smooth leg, hooking it around his waist so he can settle gently down between her legs.

 

He could feel her breath going heavy in his mouth, and her body was arching to meet his. His own breathing had gone ragged, and his crotch was tightening almost uncomfortably. 

 

He left her lips so he could kiss her neck and throat, his thumb gently tilting her chin up so he can have more access to the soft skin of her throat. Moaning softly, she slid her hands under his shirt so she could run them against the bare skin on his back. 

 

He kissed her lower, moving so that he could lift her shirt up and kiss her stomach, then slowly, exploring her skin with his tongue, he moved up, his lips inching closer to her breasts. 

 

“Oh, Juggie,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around him and tugging at his shirt to pull it off. 

 

He took a second to peel it off and toss it on the floor. She heaved her own shirt off, baring an exquisitely lacy pink bra she had underneath. 

 

His lips were drawn to the mounds of her breasts, his hand pulling down one strap as he trailed fire on her skin with his tongue. He wondered nonsensically if her panties matched, only to realize he could find out right this second. He leaned back to pull off her shorts and saw the matching bottom. 

 

“They match,” he breathed, hoarsely.

 

“Of course they do,” she replied breathily. “I wanted to be presentable for you.”

 

He was completely consumed by her words. She had  _ planned _ for him to see her this way. She had worn her sexy underwear so that when he took her clothes off, she could drive him crazy with desire. 

 

It was impossible to explain how that made him feel. He’d spent most of his life getting  _ nothing  _ of what was so commonly freely given. Everything he ever got, he had to fight for and get scrappy on. Even getting the book deal had been an investment of years of hope. Every penny he spent for postage of his manuscript was one other thing he had to sacrifice. When he got the deal, things got easier, but the nearly two decades of living a hard life was never going to leave his system. It was burned into his bones like a brand. 

 

So having Betty Cooper practically naked underneath him, wanting him, wearing fuck-me underwear for him to take off, was dizzying. 

 

He was gone on her. She had him. He wanted all of her. 

 

“Oh, Betty,” he groaned, capturing her lips with his, almost gratefully. Her fingers combed through his hair, pushing off the beanie he had forgotten he still had. Her tongue tangled with his, hungrily swirling in his mouth. 

 

“Take off your pants,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you.”

 

_ Baby, I’ll do anything… _

 

The doorbell rang and he froze. 

 

She shook her head. “No, no, no…” And he was inclined to go with her line of thinking. To just keep going until that person disappeared. It could be anything. A delivery or some evangelist, or whatever. It couldn’t be that important if they were just--

 

The doorbell rang again. 

 

“Shit,” Jughead hissed, grabbing his shirt from the floor. He jerked his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “Third door to your left. Wait for me?”

 

Giggling, she gathered her clothes and padded off, still in her socks, he realized. He watched her prance gracefully, with her beautiful ass and her perfect body. He forgot what he was doing were it not for that damned doorbell, which rang a third time. 

 

His shirt on, he opened the door and bristled at the sight of a teenager. His close-cropped hair, glasses, blouse and sweater vest gave him a preppy look, even if his jeans were somewhat well-worn. 

 

“Can I help you?” Jughead asked, rather crankily. 

 

“Um, evening, sir. Is JB here?” 

 

Jughead eyed him intently. This was a dude. A dude was looking for his little sister. “Who are you and is she expecting you?”

 

The kid looked at him warily. “I’m Gabriel. I live three floors down and JB and I walk to school everyday…”

 

Alarm bells went off in his head and his eyebrow arched.  “She never mentioned you.”

 

“Er--”

 

“Gabe!” came a voice behind Jughead. Jellybean came bouncing up to the door. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Er, I thought you said we were going to study for Calculus together,” Gabe said, looking suspiciously at Jughead even as he spoke to her. 

 

“Was that today? I thought we agreed Monday?”

 

“Um,  _ no.  _ We agreed for  _ today. _ ”

 

“Shit, I messed up. Sorry Gabe. We had--have guests so we were entertaining. Listen, let me get my books and we can go to your apartment instead--”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jughead said, flustered.  “Why do you have to rush off? You can study here. I mean, he’s here already.”

 

Jellybean eyed him uncertainly.  “I mean--that’s fine, but you… and Betty…er--”

 

“We’ll be in the next room,” he said, gruffly. “It’s fine.”

 

He would have to talk to Jellybean about this kid.  He vaguely started remembering being introduced to this boy and his parents downstairs. Maybe it had been one of those mornings where they were all rushing out.  But that hardly mattered now. This was a boy with his little sister. She was having study dates with a boy. 

 

“Okay…” Jellybean said carefully. “Gabe, d’you mind studying here?”

 

Gabe nodded uncertainly. “Um, that was kind of the original plan.”

 

“Right.”Jellybean grabbed Gabe’s hand and Jughead zeroed in on that. He closed the front door and watched his sister drag a boy into her bedroom. 

 

“Door open!” Jughead yelled sternly. 

 

Jellybean scowled at him. “Jug, don’t be--”

 

“Door open,” he huffed, folding his arms in front of his chest. 

 

Both Jellybean and Gabe red in the face, she grumbled a “Fine,” and went to her room. She left the door halfway ajar. 

 

“Unbelievable,” Jughead muttered, going to his room. “I fucking sound like Fred Andrews.” 

 

He found Betty on his bed, stomach down. She was leaning up on her elbows, reading one of his motorcycle magazines, with her spectacular cleavage between her arms. Her legs were bent up at the knees and her ankles were crossed behind her. She hadn’t take her underwear off and she was the pinup of his dreams. 

 

“Everything alright?” she asked. 

 

He slammed his bedroom door with his foot and all but two long strides to get to her. He pulled her up in his arms, kissing her as he breathing her in. He slid his hands over the skin of her waist, smoothly pushing back her panties so that he can get his hands under to squeeze her ass. 

 

The sound of her whimper sent his body into overdrive. His erection was nearly unbearable at this point and his instincts warred between the need to please her and the need to remove his pants.

 

Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hand to the front of her and touched her gently, feeling her wetness on his fingers. 

 

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, dizzy with the thought that he had done this to her. “You are so fucking hot right now.”

 

Smiling into their kiss, her hand joining his under her panties and coaxing his fingers to move. He made slow circles against her, pulling her close with his other hand to kiss her throat. Unable to help himself, he groaned even louder. She moaned in response, and he was just about to slip off her panties when loud music started playing from Jellybean’s room. 

 

It occurred to him that the music was being played so that Jellybean and her date wouldn’t hear them.  

 

Distracted, he stopped to think, wondering if he could do this with his little sister trying her best not to listen next door, with a guy who could possibly be her boyfriend hearing all this. 

 

“Juggie, what’s wrong?” Betty asked, still gasping for breath. “Something I did?”

 

He blinked, pulling her close and starting to kiss her again. “N-No, of course not. You’re fucking perfect. Oh, my God, I want you so bad right now--”

 

She pulled away to look him in the eyes, smirking. “But?”

 

He struggled for a moment, then he swallowed. “My sister has a boy in her room. I think he’s her boyfriend and she didn’t tell me.”

 

Betty stared at him for a couple of heartbeats then burst into giggles. 

 

He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

 

“You! You’re freaking adorable. God, you big brothers are all the same.” She gently slid out of his arms and started picking up her shirt. 

 

“W-Wait,” he said frantically. “What are you--?”

 

She arched an eyebrow and gave him a pointed stare. “Well, we can’t do  _ this  _ right now, obviously. There’s a  _ boy  _ in Jellybean’s room. We don’t want him getting ideas, now do we?”

 

“But--”

 

“And if you want to do this, Juggie, I  _ so  _ want your full attention.”

 

“You totally have my full attention!”

 

She arched an eyebrow, saying nothing with her lips but letting her eyes do the talking. 

 

As much as he wanted to deny what she said, he couldn’t, because she was absolutely right. He was distracted now. Crazy distracted. He stood there somewhat uncertainly as he longingly watched Betty put her clothes back on. 

 

She went to him and slipped her arms over his shoulders. “We have time, yes?” she asked, softly. “Or do you have other plans?”

 

The thought of him having plans other than her was extremely unappealing. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead to hers, sighing. “You’re my plans, Betty Cooper.”

 

She smiled, kissed him quickly, and said, “Let’s go play video games and maybe finish that wine. After all, we have to make sure those pesky teenagers stay in line.” Taking his hand, she pulled him out of his room and back to the couch.  

 

He wondered if it was possible to fall for someone after  _ not  _ having sex. He watched her smiling face, listened to her trash-talk him over a video game, and felt her sidle up against him even as her Wonder Woman beat the shit out of Killer Frost. 

 

_ Yeah. It’s totally possible.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks before the next Riverdale episode! Will I survive it? Stay tuned. 
> 
> And thank you so very much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and left kudos.


	6. The Secrets We Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead and Betty grow even closer and Kevin says, "Fuck it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than the others, and this is possibly a relatively shorter chapter, but I think I may have the next one out soon. 
> 
> We won't have a new episode of Riverdale until next week and I know that this is what withdrawal feels like. 
> 
> To my fellow Americans, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I hope everyone has the opportunity to stuff themselves silly with food.

 

I need another story

Something to get off my chest

My life gets kinda boring

Need something that I can confess

Til' all my sleeves are stained red

From all the truth that I've said

Come by it honestly I swear

Thought you saw me wink, no

I've been on the brink, so

Tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

This time, don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

\--Secrets, OneRepublic

 

Betty left Jughead’s apartment at around 11:30pm. He’d been adorably distracted the entire time, grumbling about how Gabe, the boy in his sister’s room, hadn’t left yet. And as entertaining as that was, Betty needed to get some sleep to get to an early class.

 

So she kissed Jughead goodbye--another out of body experience--and headed home.

 

She was going to see him again this morning at Photojournalism class and she couldn’t believe how excited she was. She had just been with him the night before, so it felt a little silly, but then she reasoned that this was new. That this was yet undefined and the possibilities were endless. To connect with someone on so many levels so quickly was rare, so why wouldn’t she be excited? To be excited, in itself, was amazing.

 

She had spent a large portion of her life with every step and outcome controlled obsessively by her mother, and when later, her mother had conditioned her enough, she found herself frantically doing the same. When she failed, Alice came down hard, and it had only served to make her try harder to fit into that tiny box that Betty, deep in the recesses of her shackled mind, knew she was growing too big for.  

 

There was a time that she thought joy was an excess she couldn’t afford. She didn’t have time for it. She knew what it was, but she believed it was something she could only get once she did every single thing her mother told her to do, and even then, that joy was expected to be restrained. Joy was a measured reward, and if she lost herself in it, Alice had every right to punish her for it.  It was only later, after she had been removed from that environment, that she began to realize that she was allowed to want joy, allowed to revel in it, to be excited about it and about things that didn’t equate to an A, or the perfect BMI, or an impenetrable facade of “I’m/It’s/We’re fine!”

 

In her previous life of emotional isolation, discovering the things that made her happy was still, to her, an exhilarating experience.

 

This morning, she was wearing a plaid mini skirt, a white crop top sweater, and black boots to match her black jacket. She wanted Jughead to like the way she looked, just to return the favor, because she always loved the way he looked, and right now was no different.

 

He didn’t have flannel today. He still had the dark jeans, and this time his boots were more biker than combat, but he was wearing a dark blue sweater, which looked more posh than  his usual biker punk. It looked great on him, though. Beanie and all.

 

He smiled when he saw her.  That half-cocked smirk that sent her heart fluttering and her stomach flipping.  He rose from the steps to meet her and there was none of the earlier shyness that overcame them when they saw one another.  

 

She figured having his hands down her panties had succeeded in making all that shyness go away.

 

His arm was around her waist in a second and he was kissing her. The kiss he greeted her with was short, but it still managed to be tinged with the heat she liked so much.

 

“Hi,” she said, softly, smiling at him in their private embrace.

 

“Hi.” His smile was a little more restrained, but she had a feeling that it was because his entire life was about keeping a stoic exterior, and he was afraid all the smiling would somehow be his undoing.

 

When they turned to walk, he kept his arm around her shoulders and she loved that he wanted her so close.

 

“So what time did _Gabe_ leave?” she asked, teasingly.

 

Jughead groaned. “Not early enough. I had to pop my head in there and ask him if his mother wasn’t looking for him.”

 

She laughed. “Oh my God, Chic was just like that. And he always had his FBI jacket hanging off a chair, so that all the boys can see. He was terrible.”

 

“Maybe I should hang my Serpent jacket from a chair,” he thought out loud.

 

“Well, it’ll certainly weed out the wimps.”

 

“Might get the smart asses, though. I hate those.”

 

That made her giggle.

 

As they approached the doors of their classroom, she saw a couple of big guys at the door, whom she realized were Reggie and Trev. They looked like someone had beat them both up. She grimaced at the huge black eye on Reggie’s face and Trev’s cut lip.

 

“Oh, God, what happened to you two?” she asked, unable to help herself.

 

“Yeah, did you get into a fight or something?”Jughead asked, with what seemed like exaggerated concern.

 

“Eat shit, Jones,” Reggie growled.

 

Betty frowned. “Well, that was uncalled for.”

 

“Yeah, Reg, what’s that about?” Jughead asked, in the same odd tone.

 

“What Mantle meant to say--,” Trev interjected pointedly, “--was that he’d rather not talk about it.  It was stupid and kind of embarrassing.”

 

Trev appeared to be directing his words at Reggie, which Betty thought was strange, since she was the one who asked first.  

 

“I apologize,” she said automatically. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

 

“You’re not,” Trev said, hastily. “You’re _so not_ prying. You were just curious and that’s totally not your fault. I get it, and really, please don’t apologize.”

 

Betty thought that an odd response. All things considered, she didn’t actually need to know what the heck had happened to them, so she was relieved to leave it at that.  She tugged Jughead inside, discreetly. “Okay… well, feel better.”

 

“Yeah, what she said. Maybe put ice on that, Reg. It’ll bring down the swelling,” Jughead said, ushering her into the classroom.  

 

She observed Trev and Reggie giving Jughead daggered looks and Betty wondered what that was all about.  

 

“Why are they looking at you like that?” Betty asked, still confused by that entire conversation.

 

“Like what?” He settled beside her, draping his arm over the back of her chair.

 

“Like they want to beat you up.”

 

Jughead arched an eyebrow then smirked. “Maybe they just need to lay off the ‘roids.”

 

She gave him a pointed look. Reggie, maybe, she could believe would use substances like that, but Trev? She doubted it.

 

“Trev would never,” she said, propping her chin on her hand as her eyes followed Trev and Reggie who had taken a couple of seats at the far back.

 

“Oh, yeah? Good guy Trev would never, would he? They both looked kinda beat up to me.”

 

She cocked a grin, leaning towards him. “Are you being jealous, Jughead Jones?”

 

He waved his hand in a gentle dismissal, lips twisted in an exaggerated grimace. “Nah. Jealousy is for the weak. I am being fiercely vigilant over what I hope is the unwanted attentions of a guy more charming than I am.”

 

She thought at that moment that Trev couldn’t possibly be more charming than Jughead right now.  She put her lips close to his ear. “You say that like I wasn’t half-naked on your bed last night.”

 

He gave a deep, exasperated sigh and shot her a forlorn look. “That’s just mean, Cooper. Now is _not_ the time to remind me of that.” He then moved one of his notebooks over the front of his pants.  

 

She giggled, softly, at his predicament. “I think it’s the perfect time.”

 

The professor arrived and she could tell that Jughead’s smart retort died on his lips as he fell silent for their class.

 

*****************

 

When Jughead’s “predicament” finally settled down, he looked casually over to the other side of the classroom and saw both Trev and Reggie glowering at him. He didn’t stand much for stupid machismo, but he couldn’t resist flashing them a cocked grin.

 

He wondered briefly if they’d somehow lure him into some dark corner and beat him up. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone would try, but they can be big bad football guys and he didn’t give a shit. He’d stood up to worse.

 

That said, this was Columbia. There weren’t many kids tougher than him.

 

The professor turned down the lights and flicked on the ten-foot screen, instructing them on perspectives and apertures.

 

In the darkened room, she took his hand and he clasped it.

 

He put his lips to her ear. “Do you think that if we make out, the professor’ll ask us to leave?”

 

She stifled a giggle. “Don’t you dare, Jughead Jones.”

 

He smirked, tempted enough to surprise even himself. He had never been one for public displays of affection, yet there he was, showing the world that he was crazy for this girl.

 

The professor soon wrapped up his lesson, and in parting, he told his students that they should be starting on their projects by next week..

 

“Yeah, we need to get on that, Cooper,” he teased as they got up to leave. He wasn’t worried. Of all people, he didn’t get fussed about deadlines. He was, however, a little worried about his homework-loving, deadline-obsessed partner.

 

She seemed, surprisingly, unconcerned. “We’ll get something together no matter what happens.  Between you and me, we have a ton of material.”

 

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

 

“Well, we can take pictures of you doing all sorts of construction site work, or it can be about you hovering over your sister and her boyfriend, or you getting your ass kicked on PS4...”

 

“Haha, very funny. How about we take pictures of you working at the garage?”

 

She got close to him and said, “Or you can take pictures of me nude.”

 

“Nobody’s going to get to see those except me,” he said in a low voice, surprising even himself at how much he meant it.

 

She smiled her dimpled smile, taking him by the hand and walking them out of the classroom. She told him she was going to grab a quick lunch at the cafeteria then do some studying in the library before her next class.

 

“Riveting, I know.”

 

“Food and then books? With you? Say no more,” he said, grandiosely.  

 

“Jughead Jones,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.  “You know just what to say.” And she kissed him.

 

************

 

Jughead confessed at lunch that he was a little afraid that Jellybean would go somewhere far away, like Stamford or even some university in Boston.

 

“She likes science. She wants to be a doctor or a biologist,” he said. “I find myself wishing that NYU gives her a scholarship and she gets accepted nowhere else. Don’t tell her I said that.”

 

She smiled fondly at him.  “When college acceptance letters started coming in, we found out I got accepted to Columbia, CUNY, Brown, and the University of Florida. Chic and Polly were over the moon for me. Chic brought us out to celebrate, _and then_ he proceeded to convince me that Columbia or CUNY had an amazing journalism program. He basically told me that the University of Florida and Brown were too far away and that he couldn’t just go to Rhode Island or Florida to have lunch with me, and that I can’t just have Polly come over to go shopping, and on and on and on.”

 

He was watching her face, seeing her joy as she told this story, reveling in the love of her siblings. A stray lock of hair had fallen from her forehead and he gave in to the impulse to push it behind her ear. That she leaned into his touch made his insides feel warm.

 

“Did you want to go to Florida or Brown instead?” he asked.

 

“I could’ve, but it was curiosity, not desire. It would have been all the same to me, except that Florida and Brown would have been far from them, and I didn’t want to be far from them. I love them and I’ll miss them horribly.” She seemed a little bashful admitting this, but she went on.

 

“And Polly… she stuck by me the entire time we had to live with my parents. She fought for me and it cost her a lot, Jug. It cost her so much. Things… happened and she couldn’t go to Brown, or Columbia, or even CUNY.”

 

Something flickered in her gaze, something that dulled the vibrance in her eyes for a second. And then it was gone, washed away by that effervescent persona of blonde ponytails and short plaid skirts, homework princess and bookworm extraordinaire.

 

To some degree, it stung.

 

Haven’t they established that they could be more like themselves with each other?

 

“But the point,” she goes on, almost like a sleight of hand, as skillful as a parlor trick magician. She smiled and took his hand. “Is that Jellybean loves you and whatever decision she makes, she’ll think hard on it because of you. I’m willing to bet she’ll choose a school that isn’t so far away, either.  Then you’ll get to meet all of her boyfriends and give them the riot act as you see fit.” She smiled warmly, her gaze intent on his, and he couldn’t help himself, forgiving her instantly for her deflection.

 

“Will Chic give me the riot act?” he asked.

 

“Maybe. He gives all the boys interested in me the riot act,” she said, shrugging and giving him a sultry wink.

 

He chuckled, marvelling at how that wink sent ripples of pleasure coursing through his body.  It was almost unbelievable, how taken he was with her. “God, that must’ve been a parade of boys. Chic must’ve been exhausted.”

 

The smile she gave him was shy, her face turning bright red. “Nah. There were only a few. One of them in highschool and then maybe one or two during my gap year.”

 

He found that extremely hard to believe. “One in high school? Boy, your town must’ve been something...”

 

“Oh,” she said, chuckling. “I hardly dared to have a boyfriend when I was living with mom. The one I had was a secret and basically my manic desperation to have perfect marks won over spending time with _that_ boyfriend, so when we eventually hit a rough patch, he had no reason to stick around. The smattering of guys who did show interest in me after that weren’t serious, just… _there_ for a bit, and yeah, Chic scared the hell out of all of them.”

 

He suppose he could understand Chic putting the fear of God in any of Betty’s suitors. After all, if there was anything that could put the fear of God in Jughead _,_ it would be Law Enforcement.

 

She leaned over and bumped her shoulder to his. “And how about you? I bet you’ve got an exquisite history of dating the most interesting women.”

 

He shrugged, slightly self conscious. “Dating for me… they were few and far between. I’m not like other guys. I don’t need to be with someone all the time. Most of the time I’m single and unengaged.”

 

“Unengaged?”

 

He chuckled. “Yeah. Unengaged.”

 

“That’s an odd way of putting it.”

 

“It’s the most appropriate way of putting it.”

 

And it was.  He wasn’t like Archie who fell in love every two weeks. He didn’t hop bars with the guys to hook up with chicks. The women he’d been with were memorable for various reasons, mostly intellectual, but he hadn’t had an emotional connection with any of them since perhaps his first relationship in high school. Between those relationships, which had been short and sweet, he enjoyed the feeling of being unattached, unbeholden to anyone but himself and his sister.

 

He laughed at the misery of the guys and gals around him, wailing about the pressure of Valentine's, anniversaries, and all sorts of occasions requiring any kind of material offering or ritual courtship.

 

Being single was never his lament, so it was only fair that when he wanted to be alone, he didn’t encourage anyone’s attention.

 

So Betty, for all his proselytizing about the merits of being “unengaged” and “unattached”, effortlessly caught his full attention and turned him in into the guy who couldn’t go a day without seeing her or connecting with her in some way or other.  

 

She seemed to find amusement in his choice of words. “So do you consider yourself engaged, now?”

 

He didn’t have to think about that. “Totally engaged,” he said, with feeling. “Like, crazy engaged.”

 

She smiled up at him, with that dreamy, soft gaze he now lived for. “Me too.”

 

**************

 

The library wasn’t normally a place of inspiration for Jughead, but clearly Betty’s presence had changed that, too.

 

The words poured from his fingers to form the story that was sitting in his head about the high school kid who found the body of a murdered classmate in a river of dreams. It was a short story for the campus literary magazine, and they’d published his stories in the past, but he himself had found those uninspired. This one, created in the presence of his muse, was something he was proud of.

 

He looked up at her from his laptop, watching her bite the end of her pen when she wasn’t twirling it at the end of her bouncy ponytail. Her focus was laser like, never noticing his eyes on her as he drank in every detail of what made her so intriguing.

 

There was a stack of books on one side of her, so high that it probably concealed her from half the library. She had them positioned spine in, so that she could see which one was which instantly, and she could pull it out for reference when necessary. She had both a laptop and an old fashioned notebook. Her method, whatever it was, appeared meticulous and practiced. She’d been doing this for years. It was almost like seeing her brain work.

 

She was so caught up in what she was doing that she hadn’t realized that she had her palm angled up, and that he could see that there were faint crescent shaped marks on them. Like scars.

 

He eyed them more intently, his brows creasing with concentration. This was the first time he’d noticed them and he couldn’t quite figure out what they were.

 

When she finally noticed him looking, he was too focused on her hand to look away, and when she realized what he was seeing, she folded her hands into her, like his gaze burned.

 

“I used to do that,” she said, flustered. “Dig my nails in. I don’t do it anymore.”

 

He was mildly shocked, he had to admit. Those crescent shapes were her nails. Digging in. He couldn’t imagine the pressure it took to break skin like that.

 

And the way she said it, like she had done something unacceptable and was trying to right it, felt wrong. He couldn’t imagine the things her mother had done to make her look to pain for relief.

 

He reached across the table and took her by the hand. She resisted, but he rubbed the scars gently beneath his thumb. The softness of her palms contrasting with the tiny crescents of marred skin made him wonder what other marks that period of her life left on her.

 

These were healed and it looked like she had kicked _this_ habit, at least, but when one had trauma like that imprinted on one’s skin, it took years after to learn to function and live with it.  

 

She watched him wordlessly, fascinated, it seemed, by his willingness to look at and touch her pain. He closed her palm and kissed the knuckles of her hand.

 

“You tell me if things are too much, and I’ll listen,” he said, quietly, meeting her gaze. “Call me or text me if you want to talk, or I can come over, or if you want to go somewhere just to blow off some steam, you let me know, okay?”

 

And there they were. Those vulnerable eyes of hers, the ones that had made an appearance at lunch but had frantically put away. She didn’t put them away, this time, and he was grateful for that trust.

 

She looked at her hands for a minute, entwined as they were in his. “Thanks, Juggie. I really--” She paused, taking a deep breath. “--appreciate you saying that.”

 

“Anytime, Betts.”

 

She gave him a tiny smile and she reached up to touch his face. “God. Are you even real?”

 

He chuckled at that.  “I hope so.”

 

“Just that--” Her brows knotted apologetically. “You’re amazing.”

 

He’d never been called that before. He smirked. “I try.”

 

She laughed, softly.  She leaned over the table and gave him a kiss that lingered far longer than it should have in a library.

 

Then again, he was with her, surrounded by books, so he wasn’t complaining.

 

******************

 

Betty hummed as she sliced the newly peeled garlic on her chopping board deftly. She was thinking of frying up some sea bass and dressing it with a sweet and salty Asian light sauce. Kevin said he would be home and she hasn’t sat down with her best friend for dinner in a while.  

 

They used to sit down for dinner regularly, whether at home or outside. But she and Kevin, though the best of friends, were not joined at the hip after all, and since college began, they’d had longer periods apart than they’d ever had. Besides, with her little stunt last week, she had some making up to do.

 

When Kevin walked into their apartment, dramatically declaring that CRIMPRO1 would be his death sentence, Betty sighed happily at its warm familiarity. She had just turned the sea bass over on its other side so dinner would be ready and perfect in a few minutes.

 

“Well, that smells heavenly. Can’t imagine that our neighbors may feel the same, though,” Kevin said, dumping his bag on the kitchen counter.

 

“Crispy fried sea bass,” she said. “I’ve got some rice and Chinese Spinach to go with it. You’re gonna love it, Kev.”

 

“I know, my dear. I love everything you cook.”

 

She smiled at him. “So how was the rest of your day?”

 

“Fantastic, otherwise,” he said, opening the fridge and taking out some leftover wine. “I met that cute barista I was telling you about. His name is Danny and he studies at CUNY.”

 

Betty began pouring ingredients into another pan, the liquids sizzling as it hit the pan’s hot surface. “Meet-cute, finally,” she said, carefully.

 

She never knew with Kevin. His tendency for dramatics made him schizophrenic at times. He could sound elated one second then scornful the next.

 

“It’s all good. He spelled my name Davin on purpose then took the opportunity to ask me out when I called him on it.”

 

“Clever! Did you say yes?”

 

“I did. We’re having dinner on Friday,” he replied grinning.

 

“Cool! Maybe he’ll be your One Great Love!”

 

“Maybe. He at least knows how to make a decent cappuccino.”

 

She laughed.

 

“Speaking of One Great Love,” Kevin said. “How’s Jughead?”

 

She shot him a scolding look over her shoulder, but she didn’t immediately reply. She was still wrapping her head around what he did at the library the previous afternoon. He had seen the scars on her palms and instead of running away from them he took them in his hands and _touched_ them. She was still reeling from it.

 

She had to run to another class after that, and in the evening, they’d both been too busy with school work and studying for upcoming quizzes. They’d been texting, for sure. Random messages throughout the day that made Betty hum with excitement every time she heard that telltale ding from her phone, and so far, she had stopped herself half-a-dozen times from typing: _I miss you,_ because God, its only been a day. She was going to reserve that text for tomorrow.

 

“Betty?” Kevin asked, sensing her silence.  “You okay?”

 

“I’m totally fine, Kev,” she said, hastily. “Sit. This is ready. I feel like we haven’t sat down together in, like, forever.”

 

She plated all the food she prepared and settled on the counter, side by side with her best friend. Kevin took a few moments to appreciate her food before he finally gave her an expectant look, waiting for her to speak.

 

She took a deep breath and cast him a repentant look. “I’m sorry I ran out on you the other night. I know you worry about me, but honestly, I just--I just want you to live a normal life. I am not your responsibility and I don’t want you to get in trouble for the things I do.”

 

Kevin sighed, shaking his head. “Honey, what do you want me to unpack first?”

 

“How about--you’ve been watching out for me the last three and a half years and you deserve better than that?”

 

“Betty,” Kevin said in maddeningly patient tone. “You are my best friend and I love you. I will worry about you regardless of whether your mother had been a monster or not. If you think really hard, my worrying is not extraordinary. It’s your _therapy_ that’s extraordinary, and dangerous, and illegal. So yeah, that fucking worries me.”  

 

She shrugged, weakly. “It’s really just a hobby--”

 

“Oh, Betty. It’s not just a hobby. Don’t call it that.”

 

“Okay, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m good at this. I’m smart. And most importantly, it helps. It helps me _so much--”_

 

“I know that! Why do you think I let you get away with it, but I’ve stayed up nights just wondering whether that night would be the night I’d get your call to bail you out of jail, or worse, I’d get the call from a hospital telling me you’ve been in an accident or--God help me--killed! Honestly, I’d feel so much better about this if you went legal--”

 

“We tried that, Kev,” she said, testily. “We tried. If I ever get past that wall of _men_ who fence their organization like it’s the fucking fires of Mordor, I’d be a complete psychological mess by the time I could putter my way to the starting line.  Kev, I actually calculated how many dudes I’d have to sleep with to get the in. Like, I _considered doing it.”_

 

“God, Betty!” Kevin cried. “Maybe we just knocked on the wrong circuits. There has to be a decent one out there.”

 

“But they’re not competitive. The ones that are have gatekeepers that seem to think they have license to take full advantage of their position of power. They don’t want the likes of me there, so I am forced to find my own way. And you know what I’ve been through. You know what I had to deal with. I will never let anyone push me back into a box, Kev. Not everything has to be neat and polite and proper. That’s Alice’s way.”

 

Kevin sighed, pushing the food on his plate with a fork.  “I’m not giving up. I’m going to keep trying to find a way to get you to go legal, but while you’re doing _this_ , at least have someone with you that you can trust. For a while that was me, but now--”

 

“Kevin,” she interjected. “I trust you with my life. I just don’t want you to risk your career. What if the police raid the event and you get hauled off to jail? I trust you. I just don’t want you to get in trouble for me.”

 

“It’s not just the possibility of accidents that keep me up, Betty.  It’s the people who go to these things. Those guys could be nasty. People are hopped up on drugs, they’re drunk, they carry contraband, probably guns. They could hurt you. They could do unthinkable things to you.  If you’re with someone, you’re better protected.”

 

Betty knew that Kevin wasn’t exaggerating. She was aware of the dangers. She was always hyper aware of such things--never taking offered drinks, never wandering to quiet corners, never being too far from an escape route, and never straying into a den of men. And yes, when possible, she stayed where the women were.

 

She never lingered at the event, anyway. She went, did her thing, and left. That was her MO.

 

“Take Jughead with you,” Kevin finally said.

 

She shook her head vigorously. “No, Kev. He has a lot to lose. If he gets in trouble while he’s there, he’ll get it worse than any of us.”

 

“Look, I know he was in a gang, but was he ever arrested for anything?”

 

Betty scowled, aghast that Kevin was even considering it. “Well, I don’t know! I never asked. Does it matter?”

 

“It matters! If he was never arrested, it didn’t matter what past he had. There’s no record of it!”

 

“Don’t be naive, Kev. Whether or not he got arrested, it’s completely possible that they have a file on him of some sort.”

 

Kevin arched an eyebrow. “So, what? You’re just going to keep this a secret from him? I thought you wanted more out of Jughead.”

 

“I do!”

 

“Then you’re going to have to tell him sooner or later, and he’s _not_ going to let you go to those things alone. I’m pretty sure Jughead Jones would know what decrepit personalities litter that circuit and he’ll never let you swim in that by yourself.”

 

“I don’t have to tell him,” she said, stubbornly.

 

“Gurl, please. Don’t kid yourself. Either you tell him or you can’t have a relationship with him, plain and simple. You tell him so he can make that decision, whether to stick around or leave your ass.”

 

Her stomach knotted at the possibilities, but truthfully, she was more afraid that he would stick around and get in a world of legal troubles for it.  Because a man who can look at the scars on her hand and not run away didn’t scare easy.

 

“Is it because you don’t trust him?” Kevin asked.

 

Her gaze snapped up at that. “No. That’s not it. I know he’s trustworthy.”

 

“Then tell him. God knows, maybe he can talk some sense into you where I can’t.”

 

“I’d rather not.”

 

“Then you’d be lying to him, and you’ll be stuck in this predicament.”

 

Betty sighed, looking at Kevin pleadingly. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

 

Kevin shook his head. “It will, eventually. Secrets fester.”

 

Betty knew that to be true, and Kevin never skimped on the harsh words when he needed to get a point across.  Kevin could never stay mad at her, she knew that deep down, but one of these days, out of pure love, he was going to do something desperate.  She could only hope that when that day came, she would be ready to face the consequences of her secret.

 

******************

 

Jughead had a long day.  

 

Apart from the back to back classes he’d had all morning, he and Archie spent all afternoon working construction for Mr. Andrews’s newest project in midtown Manhattan.  Then after _that,_ he had to attend Parent-Teacher conferences at Jellybean’s school, which was, annoyingly, a repeat of the previous years’ “I’m not JB’s father, I’m her brother. Yes, I’m her legal guardian. Yes, I am old enough. Yes, Jughead is what I prefer to be called.”

 

As he lay sprawled on the couch, taking a much needed break from studying, he listened briefly to Jellybean telling Archie to quit whistling to the tune of some Taylor Swift song.

 

He hadn’t seen Betty in a couple of days and he was seriously missing her. They’d been texting constantly about random things that made him grin to himself often enough that Jellybean teased him about ruining his own, broody aesthetic.

 

He needed to see her soon, or else he was going to lose his mind. He was about to text her about making plans the next day when his phone rang.

 

It was an unknown number, but Jughead picked it up, ready to tell off whoever this telemarketer was, when the voice on the other line struck him as powerfully familiar.

 

“It’s me, Jones. Don’t hang up.”

 

Jughead’s brows knotted. “Kevin?”

 

“Your genius never ceases to amaze me.”

 

“How did you get my number?”

 

“I got it from Betty’s phone, what do you think? I figured out her passcode… anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m calling in that favor.”

 

Still flustered by Kevin calling him in the first place, Jughead sat up from the couch. “Favor?”

 

“You know, the one where you give me something in exchange for not telling Betty you asked to be transferred to her class? Honestly, the whole transfer itself is worthy of some kind of bounty. If you think about it, I connected you with the potential love of your life--”

 

“Ok, hold on,” Jughead interrupted before Kevin went off on another tangent that, quite frankly, he wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone. “I know it’s taking awhile, but Archie said that basically, all you have to do is show up casually at practice in the morning and he’ll introduce you to Moose--”

 

“Forget Moose, this favor is way more important. You do this and we’re squared, got it?”

 

“Okay,” Jughead said, carefully. “What’s the favor?”

 

“I need you to get our girl, Jughead. I need you to make sure Betty’s okay.”

 

******************

 

Jughead had to ask: why didn’t Kevin just go and do this himself?  

 

“Because I’ve tried that and now she’s cut me off. I need to shake things up and I’m going to do that with you.”

 

“You’re going to use me.”

 

“I do what I have to do for Betty, Jug. I’m not even supposed to know where this garage is, but I will do what it takes. Get my drift?

 

“Then how did you--”

 

“Weren’t you listening? I hacked into her phone. Betty and I were Nancy Drew and Georgia Fayne in high school so she isn’t the only one good at getting classified information.”

 

“Betty is going to be royally pissed at you.”

 

“I don’t care. Her safety is my main concern at this point. She should never be at those things alone. And if she won’t listen to me, maybe she’ll listen to you.”

 

There was something so righteous about all this that made Jughead flinch ever so slightly. He felt like Don Quixote, flanked by Sancho Panza (Kevin), swooping in to save Dulcinea, the fair maiden who didn’t want or need to be saved, and he and Kevin were the arrogant dudes crazy enough to think she did and that they knew better.

 

But unlike those windmills, there were real dangers, and unlike Dulcinea, Betty wasn’t exactly just going about her own merry way doing farm chores.

 

Jughead had sighed. “She’s going to be so pissed at us _both_.”

 

“Would you rather not know?”

 

“Of course I’d rather know. But I’d rather that she told me herself, instead of her meddling best friend.”

 

“She can hate me to her death bed, Jughead, but I have to stay up nights thinking that I’m going to get a call that something terrible has happened to her. I’m at my rope’s end and you’re my new strategy. You should know by now that I’m pretty goddamn ruthless when I have to be.”

 

Jughead didn’t doubt Kevin’s Machiavellian streak in the least, and he gets it--Kevin’s need to keep Betty safe. He would do exactly the same for Jellybean. If it were Jellybean, he may even be more ruthless than Kevin, if he were being honest.

 

“Jughead,” Kevin continued, amidst Jughead’s quiet pause. “There are drunk men there in groups that have never darkened the door of a Women and Gender Studies class. Are you going to let Betty be alone in that?”

 

Kevin knew his audience.

 

“Give me the goddamn address, Kev.”

 

As soon as their call ended, Jughead slid on his boots, threw on his jacket, and told Archie and Jellybean not to wait up for him.

 

He got on his bike and pushed the speed limit to get to the address Kevin had texted him.

 

“She should still be there,” Kevin had told him. “The event won’t start until 11 and she hangs out at her storage garage more than she does at the event itself. You catch her there and you’ll have a bit of time to talk.”

 

Her garage was just off the the City limits, at the edge of Brooklyn and Queens. It was in a relatively quiet neighborhood, suburban and probably safe.

 

When he rolled up to the gates of the facility, he punched in the number Kevin gave him. Jughead didn’t know how Kevin found it out, but he wasn’t going to question Kevin’s methods.

 

He parked his motorcycle and made his way through the aisle of large storage spaces. When he got to the aisle he was looking for, he could see that one of the doors were wide open, with light pouring from inside.  

 

He took a deep breath.   _Here goes nothing._

 

*************

 

Betty heard her phone ding and ducked out from the beneath the hood of her car. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she saw that it was Kevin:

 

**_I’m sorry, but I had to._ **

 

Her brows crinkled. What had he done?

 

“Betty?”

 

As soon as she heard that voice behind her, she knew.  

 

She turned, and of course it was Jughead.  And of course, Jughead looked worried beyond belief.  

 

She could only sigh and close her eyes, defeated. _“Fuck.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the new chapter as we speak.


	7. Where the Wild Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what Betty is doing and what Jughead is made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter followed relatively quick--if you're finding this for the first time, make sure you've read Chapter 6, as I posted both chapter 6 and 7 on the same day. Hope you like the reveals.

 

_So hey, we brought our drum and this is how we dance_

_No mistakin', we make our breaks, if you don't like our 808s_

_Then leave us alone, 'cause we don't need your policies_

_We have no apologies for being_

_Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be alright, don't mind us)_

_\--Wild Things, Alessia Cara_

  


When he called her name, he had said it like a question. Her back was turned, and he was only half-sure that it was her. The blonde hair, the body structure, and the long legs were absolutely familiar to him, but there was something different about this Betty.

 

When she whirled to face him, she froze, and he was slightly mesmerized by what he saw.

 

Betty had on a beige trench coat, cinched closed at the waist, and she was wearing knee high lace up boots and stockings that went up half her thigh, which he found did things to his body temperature, but that wasn’t what captivated him, exactly.

 

For one thing, her hair was mostly down, and he realized that he’d never quite seen it like that. The closest he’d ever seen her hair that way was that first night, when she had a hair band to keep her tresses neat and mostly in place. On other times, she wore it up on a ponytail. This time was different. It was down, wavy, and it was styled with a couple of little rows of braids at the top of her head. It gave her an almost Valkyrie-like aesthetic.

 

Her eyeliner was darker. Her lipstick bolder. This was not the ponytail-wearing Ivy-league over-achieving side of her. This was the side of her that wore torn jeans and studded leather belts. This was the girl who wore that pink skull t-shirt that first night he met her. This was the girl with the Cheshire Cat tattoo on her arm. And yes, this was the woman whom he suspected had more to her than college papers and an overused library card.

 

Her shoulders slumped, her eyes closing in despair. She cursed, and he could only think that he _never_ wanted to see Betty so reluctant to see him, ever again.  His stomach dropped at the thought that this was it. This was where it ended.  

 

“God, Jughead!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

 

He took a deep breath and stood his ground. He had decided the moment he left his apartment that he would see this through.  “Betty, _listen_ to me--”

 

“Kevin sent you, I know,” she said, holding up her phone. “He sent me a text, just now, telling me he was sorry. I assume that’s because he decided to stick his nose in--in--” She gestured between him and herself, frantically--helplessly. _“This.”_

 

“This,” he repeated, eyebrow arching questioningly.

 

She sighed. “This. You. And me. What we have.”

 

He was at least relieved that she wasn’t referring to them in the past tense. “Betty, I haven’t known Kevin long, but you and I both know that Kevin didn’t tell me because he cares about whether or not we’re being honest with each other. That is _not_ his kink. He told me because your safety, or the lack of it, is keeping him up at night.”

 

“He needs to find another preoccupation,” she muttered under her breath. “God, I’m going to kill him.”

 

He scowled. “I don’t disagree with him, Betts. I’m not here to stop you from doing this. That’s a conversation for another day, but I _am_ here because I’m not letting you go to this thing alone.”

 

She shook her head as she turned away from him. “No. You’re not coming with me.”

 

He looked at her pointedly. “What are you going to do, drive off in your car? I came here on my motorcycle.”

 

“I drive fast, Jughead. It’s _what I do._ You’re not going to catch up on me.”

 

“I know where you’re going.  Kevin made sure of that.” That was a bluff. He had no idea where she was headed after this, but considering Kevin had figured out a bunch of things on his own, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Betty would believe that Kevin managed to get that information as well.

 

She sighed, running her hand through her hair and settling her hand on the back of her neck. She was staring at the ground and he realized that looking at her, having this distance between them, was beginning to hit him where it hurt.

 

“Betts,” he said more quietly. “I want you to be safe, but I don’t want to force anything on you. If you want me to leave--” he swallowed. “I’ll leave.”

 

Her head snapped up then. “N-No!” she cried.

 

He had never been so relieved to hear a “no” in his life.

 

“Don’t go,” she said, softly.

 

That was more than enough for him.  He closed the distance between them, then carefully, he took her hands in his.  

 

He stared down at her lovely upturned face, thinking half a dozen things at once. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful. He wanted to say he missed her. He wanted to promise her that he would protect her, but he also had so many questions. He wasn’t sure he had a right to ask them, but he wanted, more than ever, to understand her and who she was.

 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.  

 

She gave him a tight-lipped, tiny smile. This was new. A smile tinged with something like sadness. “Where do I start?”

 

He shrugged. “The beginning.”

 

“Okay,” she replied, almost in a whisper. “Then we start with the car.”

 

**************

 

There, gleaming under the light, was her 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Yenko sYc. The original model was classically cobalt blue, but hers was a softer shade of powder blue. She kept the classic stripes, but interspersed with that original design was new customized artwork on the side of beautiful thorny roses in white silhouette, hearts, and a chess board. Her interior was in white leather, and he could see that the dash was modernized for comfort, perhaps safety, and what Jughead surmised, speed and control. It had a manual transmission, with the tip of the shift stick topped with what looked like the Mad Hatter’s hat. The chrome finish on the inside and out was polished and slick. The car looked spectacular, like it had never been used.

 

She had vanity plates, too, that said: HARD2GET.

 

_Of course she is._

 

“God, what a beauty,” he said through his breath as he examined the details. “Did you paint this, too?”

 

She chuckled.  “No, that’s not my talent,” she said leaning against the exposed carriage of the engine.  “ _This_ is my talent.”

 

Jughead wasn’t a mechanic, but it was important for him in the past to know what an engine should look like. _This_ was an extraordinary engine. The best parts of the original design were there--the iron block 427 cubic inch mill, open element air cleaner with its original “427 Turbo-Jet 425 horsepower” decals, and OEM chrome valve covers. But he could see the upgrades, because apparently, gearhead Betty Cooper did not go for small.

 

There was a big Holley carburetor sitting on top of an Edelbrock intake. The long-tube headers were huge, paired with an HEI ignition system.  This car could light fires.

 

If she did all this herself, her fingers were magic. He looked up at her in awe. “This is fantastic, Betty. How long did it take you to put this together?”

 

She smiled, proudly. “It took maybe two years just to get it into working order with its original engine, but I’ve been improving it through the years. Part by part, piece by piece. This would have been way too expensive to upgrade all at once, but right now, it’s about where I want it to be. Took five and half years all in all. This is…” she touched the car with clear sentiment. “This is my life saver.”

 

She stepped back and began to close the hood. As she dropped the hood, it clicked shut and she fished a set of keys from her coat. The keychain was shaped like a white rabbit with a pocket watch. He was beginning to notice a theme.

 

“So,” he said carefully. “Cheshire cat, roses, chessboard, hearts, and a rabbit.”

 

“And my mother’s name is Alice,” she said in a subdued tone. “Take that, Freud.” She didn’t nearly sound like she was joking. “Maybe I’m projecting, because everytime I come here, it feels like I’m stepping through a looking glass.” She looked at him, as if to gauge his reaction. “I know. I sound crazy.”

 

“We’re all a little mad here,” he replied, his tone soft.

 

This seemed to encourage her to go on. “Honestly, Jug, there’s something really wrong with me and I am trying my very best to fix it. This… _thing_ has saved my life more than once, but it’s--it’s so far from what people expect of me that’s it’s almost like a split personality. I try to tell myself I’m not crazy but I can’t help but think so when I open that door--” she jerked her head in the direction of the gates “--and it feels like something else in me takes over. I don’t black out or anything, but I feel…” She trailed for a moment, maybe wondering exactly _what_ she felt.

 

He pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear with his hand. “What do you feel?”

 

She looked him in the eyes and said, finally, “Like I’m my strongest self. Like nothing can touch me. Like I am absolutely-- _finally--_ myself.”

 

His heart hurt for her, wishing she didn’t have to have this battle inside herself. To be who she was versus being the someone everyone expected her to be.

 

He fingered a tiny braid in her hair and rubbed the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “I like you this way.”

 

That got him a breathtakingly sultry smile. “Oh, do you?” she asked, sliding closer to him. He saw her eyes looking at his lips and it sent an unholy thrum through his body.

 

“God, yeah,” he said, sucking his breath through his teeth as he slipped his hand around her waist to pull her even closer.  

 

She let him, but she did not break her gaze from his. “Juggie, are you sure you want to go with me?”

 

“I’m so sure.”

 

She nodded, then. “Ready to go for a ride?”

 

“You driving?”

 

“You trust me?”

 

“I do.”

 

She smirked. “Roll your bike in here.”

 

He went out to get it, walking briskly to fetch his bike from where he parked it. He drove it back, and when he was near enough, he shut the engine and rolled it the rest of the way in.  

 

But when he wheeled his bike into the unit, he was struck by the vision of Betty Cooper. Her coat was gone, and he saw what was underneath it.  She wore black hot pants and a lacy pink crop top that clung to her shapely figure. The collar dipped very low and her sleeves were capped. Bracelets dangled from her left wrist and a black studded leather band clung to her right. She was leaning casually against the driver’s side door of her car and Jughead was utterly bamboozled.

 

“Jesus H. Christ, Betty,” he gasped.

 

She smiled, almost shyly, pushing her beautiful blonde hair off her shoulder as she tilted her gaze at him **.** Daintily, she crooked her finger at him to come closer.

 

Hypnotized, no doubt, by her, he did her bidding and when she was within arm’s reach, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Their tongues tangling, he savored this moment of intimacy, glad that this night of rude surprises was pulling them closer instead of apart.

 

“Is this always how you look when you drive that car?” he asked in a low, quiet tone.

 

She nodded. “Most of the time. I told you, in here I’m _different.”_

 

Maybe she was, but Jughead hadn’t yet felt a sense of unfamiliarity. So far, everything she’d shown him had made sense for the Betty he knew. Or maybe that was true because he always expected that she would be more than what she made everyone see.

 

“Load up,” she told him. “And let’s get out of here.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Queens. Washington Heigh--wait a minute, I thought you said you knew where--”

 

“How’s that for a check mate?”

 

“God, I’m going to make you pay for that later.”

 

He licked his lips. “Oh, Betts. I am looking forward to it.”

 

*****************

 

She hesitated only a second to put on her music. When the music played, it was hip hop with a lot of bass and a lot of 808s.

 

Jughead grinned beside her, no doubt amused by her choice of genre.

 

“What?” she asked as she changed to a higher gear.

 

“I half expected you to have Aqua on repeat.”

 

She laughed. “One song. I liked _one song.”_

 

His smirk was almost insufferable. She would’ve belabored the point if he didn’t look so relaxed. The smile on his face was easier than it had ever been, and when his blue eyes looked at her, they were filled with something akin to affection and adoration. She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted him to look at her that way until he looked at her scars, touched them, and accepted them as part of who she was.

 

She shifted gears again and went a little faster, weaving smoothly through other cars.

 

“You in a hurry, Cooper?” he asked, chuckling.

 

She shrugged. “I like speed.”

 

There was a pause before he said, “Me too.”

 

Smiling, she wove her way to Washington Heights.

 

***************

Cars were lined up for blocks around Amherst avenue, where the starting line was. As she cruised down the side streets, she passed by dozens of souped up and modified cars, some for speed and others just for show. Men and women lined the sidewalk, outrageously dressed for the ensuing street party.

 

She peeked at Jughead. His gaze was taking everything in, and as he leaned his elbow through the passenger side window, he looked ponderous, his thumb absently fiddling with his lower lip.   

 

Party goers were watching her car drive by. Some people waved as she passed them. She knew they all recognized her car, if not her.

 

“So what do you think?” she asked, tentatively.

 

He looked her straight in the eyes. “I still can’t believe I didn’t figure out that you race cars, Betts. It’s not what I expected, but when Kevin told me, it made a strange sort of sense.”

 

She cocked a cautious grin. “I only race one.” She patted the dashboard of her car. “She’s been dependable.”

 

He nodded, looking around them, probably listening to the sounds, absorbing the sights. “How long have you been doing this?”

 

“Since I got my driver’s license.”

 

“So seventeen?”

 

She pursed her lips, tilting a shoulder. “Earlier than that.”

 

He have a half-huff, half chuckle. “So since you were sixteen, with a permit.”

 

“They’re not particular about the legalities of documentation around here.”

 

He nodded. “I know.”

 

“Jug, aren’t you scared that if this place gets raided, you’d get into a world of trouble?”

 

He looked looked at her like she should’ve known better. “Betts… I’m probably better at getting away from the police than you are.”

 

She supposed that was a fair assumption.

 

“Besides,” he continued. “Didn’t you say that you feel like you’re your strongest self doing this? That you’re free? I want to see that. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

 

Her heart soared at his words .

 

She leaned over the console to his seat and kissed him, tongues tangling, breaths hitching, and her stomach fluttering. His hand came to the back of her neck, prolonging the kiss. When they separated it was done in stops and starts, both of them reluctant for it to end, but someone beeped a horn behind them and Betty was forced to take the driver’s seat again.

 

When she sat back down, he kept caressing the back of her neck, and she can see the concern in his eyes.

 

She started to cruise again. “What?” she asked.

 

“This entire scene,” he said, waving his hand around to indicate everything outside. “Couldn’t have been easy for you.”

 

She supposed he would understand that aspect of all this. It was a male-dominated event, where _women_ weren’t drivers and more commonly relegated to the side lines. “It is what it is. I deal with it. Sometimes forcefully. They don’t call me Hard to Get Betts for nothing.”

 

He caressed her face with the back of his hand. “You know, I spent many years just being intimidating in the background for the Serpents. I can turn that shit on and off when I have to.”

 

Chuckling, she leaned into his touch. “Is that the persona you’re going to take? My big, bad boyfriend?”

 

The label slipped off her tongue so quickly that she felt a momentary flash of panic, but then he shrugged casually and simply said, “It’s easy.”

 

She stifled her smile and it took so much effort to do so her face hurt. “It’s not you. You’re more Knight in Shining Armor than Enforcer.”

 

He smirked. “Is that what you think?”

 

“It’s all I can think when you saved me from the mere possibility of Reggie.”

 

He laughed. “Betty. I would’ve done the same if it had been Archie. Half of that was me wanting you.”

 

She finally let herself smile, and his words still made the butterflies in her stomach flutter, but she knew what he had done, seen how he recognized her horror at the prospect of Reggie being in a closet with her and how Jughead had barrelled through the game’s straightforward rules to do what he had to do on a technicality. He wasn’t even playing at the time. He had sat outside of the circle behind Archie, and yet he stepped in and she appreciated him for it.

 

“It’s still the reason I wanted you that night,” she confessed, batting her eyelashes at him, playfully.

 

“And here I thought I’d charmed you with my brains.”

 

She giggled, pulling up at a corner and parking. “So listen, I need to talk to someone and he can get really, well, slimy. Think you can just let his words roll off you and just, you know, not punch him on the face?”

 

Jughead scowled. “It depends. On what he says. And what he does.”

 

She sighed. “Just--try to stay calm and go easy on him. I kinda need him to get into the race.”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

She supposed that would have to do. She opened her car door and stepped out. Jughead climbed out as well, coming around the car to join her. She recognized immediately that this was a move to be protective, to be reassuring. She hadn’t always come to these events alone. There have been many times Kevin had accompanied her, but when she did come alone, and lately that had been the case, she always noticed the difference. The harassment was definitely worse. These events were predominantly male and having a female racer incited both respect and free-for-alls. Kevin’s presence made harassers more cautious, less loud and more surreptitious. She was curious to see what Jughead’s effect on all that would be.

 

She scanned the people around her, trying to find Hans, but Hans found her first.

 

 _“Hard to Get Betts!”_ someone exclaimed from behind.

 

She turned and saw Hans. She didn’t know if it was his real name or a moniker, but she didn’t know him by any other.

 

She flashed a smile. “Hey, Hans. How’s it going?”

 

He bobbed his head up and down, his dreads swishing as he did. “So good, baby, now that I see you lookin’ so fine. Look at _that.”_ He was looking her up and down, and this was mostly his normal behavior, but with Jughead there, this was a new level of awkward.

 

She looked at Jughead carefully. His brows were so creased and his scowl so deep that his facial expression may get burned onto his face permanently, but his lips were pursed and he was saying nothing, and except for that and the crossing of his arms over his chest discontentedly, it didn’t seem like he was going to do more than that.

 

“You got a race for me?” she asked. “Someone a little more experienced, please. Not like the junior you threw my way the other night.”

 

“I got you, girl. You know that last time was just because there was no one else. Now that word’s out you’re back, the big guys are all here tonight. That’s why I’ll give you anything you want, _mami,”_ He came a bit closer and made a motion to put an arm around her.

 

She avoided him deftly and looped her arm around Jughead’s. He has hardly moved an inch, but he did look mildly threatening with that deadpan face of his.

 

“I haven’t introduced you to my boyfriend, have I, Hans? This is--”

 

“FP Jones III,” Jughead said.

 

Hans took a step back. “ _The_ FP Jones III? Like, son of FP Jones II?”

 

“That’s usually how it works.”

 

Hans gave Betty a forlorn look, hand to his heart. “Ouch, Betty. You don’t pull any punches, do you? Everyone’s gonna freak that you aren’t single anymore! And with none other than FP Jones III!”

 

Betty tried not to get too distracted by the fact that Hans knew Jughead by his real name. “I didn’t get with him to break other people’s hearts, Hans.”

 

“Well, half the racers who come here think that if they beat you, they get to keep you.”

 

She pursed her lips indignantly.

 

“Is that what you’re telling them?” Jughead demanded, unexpectedly, rising from his perch on the side of her car. He seemed bigger at that moment. Taller, and Betty wondered if this was all part of that experience Jughead was talking about, of knowing how to intimidate people.

 

Hans backed up, hands raised. “I would _never._ But guys in general come to these stupid conclusions, you know?”

 

Betty squeezed Jughead’s arm reassuringly and noted the tension in his muscles. She believed Hans, and even if he were lying, it wasn’t like she’d ask Jughead to beat the shit out of him.

 

She rubbed Jughead’s back soothingly and she felt his tension melt away.

 

With his righteous rage averted, she turned back to Hans. “Who are you putting me up against?”

 

He cast Jughead an uneasy look before replying. “Malachi. He’s been champing at the bit to race you. Aggressively.”

 

Betty bit her lip, thoughtful. “I know that name. He races for a gang, I think?”

 

Hans nodded. “Um-hmm. The--”

 

“Ghoulies,” Jughead interjected. “Buncha fops.”

 

Hans smothered a laugh.  “Not gonna argue with you on that one.”

 

Betty looked at Jughead, mistified. “Am I supposed to know this gang?”

 

Jughead shook his head, gravely. “It’s for the best that you didn’t.”

 

“Oh, Serpents and Ghoulies go _wayyy_ back,” Hans said, practically giggling.  “This is going to be an interesting night, princess. Malachi is going to _freak_ when he finds out that Hard to Get Betts is riding with the Serpent Prince.”

 

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t know if he’s riding with--”

 

“I’m riding with,” Jughead said, definitively.

 

She sighed.

 

“He’s ruthless, Betty,” Hans cautioned. He sounded sincere, and it was probably because he never wanted anything tragic happening during his races, but she always felt like Hans looked out for her, no matter how slimy he got. “He’ll run you off the road if you don’t know your stuff. This is as challenging as they come.”

 

“Bring it. I’m not afraid of Malachi,” she said, huffing.

 

Hans grinned. “It’s a good night to have a partner, B. This isn’t going to be one straight track. There’s going to be a route and you’ll need a navigator.”

 

Betty sighed. This wasn’t the first time she had to race a track like that, and she’d done races like this _solo,_ but now that Hans so kindly indicated that a navigator would be helpful, she didn’t see herself being successful convincing Jughead to sit this out.  

 

At any rate, he probably wouldn’t have let her go alone, regardless of what kind of track it was.  

 

“I’m an excellent navigator,” said Jughead, firmly.

 

“Juggie, that’s not what I’m worried about,” she said, scowling. “Anything can happen in a race, and if I crash my car, I’d rather not take anyone down with me.”

 

“I’m going with you.”

 

She sighed, again. “Fine. We’ll do it, Hans.” She dug into the pocket of her hot pants and pulled out a wad of bills. She had $500 worth of twenties in the pot. “I better get back triplicate of that.”

 

Hans took the money from her and saluted. “You know you gonna get more than that, lady. Strut that pretty little a--”

 

Jughead glowered at him. “Pretty little what?”

 

“Head,” Hans continued. “Strut that pretty little head around and people will put money on you or the other guy. Either way, your pot will be good. If you win, that is.”

 

She huffed. “Oh, I’ll win it. Just watch.”

 

Hans laughed, shaking his head. “Race is at midnight. Be at the starting line ten minutes before 12.”  He walked off, hailing a group of lovely ladies who were dancing to some music blaring from the trunk of a car.

 

Jughead pulled her closer by her waist. “Malachi is dangerous, Betty.”

 

“I’m good at this, Jug. And then you’ll know the pleasure of watching a dude having to swallow that jagged pill called A Girl Beat Your Sorry Ass.”

 

His gaze traveled to her lips, his hand massaging her shoulder and the side of her neck softly. “Your confidence kinda makes me all hot and bothered.”

 

“Mmm-hmm.” She smirked, rubbing her nose against his. “Don’t try to distract me, FP Jones III. Hans knew you and you knew he would.”

 

He shrugged, his smirk fading. “He knew my father. Dad had quite the reputation in _any_ illegally run operation, so I just figured he’d recognize the name.”

 

She tilted her gaze up at him. “And why did you even feel like you had to introduce yourself that way?”

 

Chuckling, he rolled his eyes. “I reacted. I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“What exactly were you reacting to?” She could guess, of course, but she wanted to hear him say it.

 

“I told you, I spent a couple of years being a professional intimidator,” he explained, rubbing her arms lovingly. “My dad’s name puts the fear of God in guys, and if I’m his son--” He gave her an apologetic grin. “-- _they_ respect _my_ girlfriend.”

 

She tried her very best not to sound overly excited at being called his girlfriend by _him._ Instead, she feigned mild understanding. “Ah.”

 

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I grew up with guys like this. A lot of them haven’t grown past Me-Tarzan-You-Jane. I couldn’t help myself and I got all…”

 

“Macho?”

 

He cocked a grin. _“Protective.”_

 

She finally slipped her arms over his shoulders. “What did you call it? Me Jane, You Tarzan? Or is that just a general caveman thing?”

 

“Technically, Tarzan was _not_ a caveman. He was a gentleman raised by gorillas.”

 

“Well, _Lord of the Jungle_ ,” she whispered. “You need to tone down that chest beating.” She kissed him to shut him up, because even if she did feel an excited tingle at his protectiveness, she didn’t want to start questioning her own sense of independence for it.

 

She was in no hurry to end the kiss, taking her sweet time enjoying the feel of his soft mouth and responsive tongue. She felt his strong and warm hands flat against her back and the small of her waist, tentatively creeping lower as she pressed closer, her thighs straddling his leg. That same leg nudged against her, rubbing lightly between her legs.

 

She tried not to moan too loudly.

 

Niggling at the back of her mind is the embarrassing truth that she had seen a couple of women looking his way and maybe, just maybe they’d think twice about making flirty eyes at him if they saw him kissing her this way. He didn’t know it, but he was deadly handsome when someone actually noticed. And she had noticed hard.

 

When she pulled away, his eyes were lidded with lust, and maybe she liked that way too much.

 

“How about we take a walking tour of the party?” she suggested.  “I never get to do that when I’m alone, and Kevin was too easily distracted by the boys.”

 

He was containing his smile again, a habit she found exceedingly cute. They walked around at a leisurely pace, and occasionally, Jughead would take out his phone to take snapshots. Even with a camera phone, Jughead was good at taking pictures. The cars and their makers were wonderful to frame, and she noted how Jughead got some of his subjects more relaxed with his intelligent car questions. He obviously knew how to appreciate a well crafted automobile.

 

He took pictures of her, too, and when someone offered to take their picture together, Jughead put his arms around her from behind, pressing his cheek to the side of her head.

 

When they looked at the photo, it made her smile. She wasn’t going to say it out loud, but they looked great together.  

 

“Send me that?” she asked, shyly.

 

The smile he cast her was adoring. He tapped on his screen for a few seconds, then said, “Sent.”

 

They walked for a bit more until they decided to settle on a grassy elevation overlooking the revelry.  She’d never had quiet moments in these events before.  Part of the whole Never Isolate Yourself precautions she took.

 

“I have to admit,” Betty said, pulling her knees up to her chin. “Nobody dared to slap my ass this time around.”

 

“Fucking neanderthals,” he muttered, which made her giggle.

 

“I guess they were actually afraid of the wrath of FP Jones II’s son,” she said.  She turned her head to watch his reaction.

 

Jughead shrugged. “There are advantages to being six-foot-two and in a gang.”

 

Betty could have taken what he said at face value. After all, that was a logical explanation, but she did have the brain of a journalist and her instincts were always attuned to the story within a story.

 

So Jughead Jones was in a gang. How did he know to appreciate cars the way he did? He drove a motorcycle, not a car. And he had no hesitation about being her navigator. Had he done it before?

 

He had said that his father’s reputation preceded him, but was that really all there was to it?

 

“What else did you do for the Serpents, Juggie, aside from stand around looking scary?” she asked.

 

He cocked a smile. “Betts.” His tone was gently chiding, like he was saying she should know better than to ask that question.

 

“Are you going to say that you’d tell me but you’d have to kill me?”

 

He chuckled. “Quid pro quo, Clarice.”

 

She was inclined to say that her secret racer life was pretty fucking _quid,_ but she knew that she had let him into this part of her life because he said he wanted to get to know her. All of her.

 

“So finish that story you started at the garage,” he said, softly. “How did you get into this? Is Kevin really the only other person who knows? And aren’t you afraid of using your real name?”

 

She hadn’t really thought about explaining herself, since Kevin kind of saw her progression to this as a bystander, so she didn’t know quite where to start, so she began with the name. “I don’t know. Most of these people know me here as Hard to Get, Betts. Hans is probably really the only one who calls me Betty.  And if anyone I know happens to hear about that awesome race car driver named Betty, they’ll never think it’s me. Besides, I didn’t want to call myself anything else. In this place, I’m the me I always wanted to be. I don’t want to cover it up with an outlandish pseudonym.”

 

He threaded his fingers through hers, and she saw such affection in his eyes that she couldn’t help but smile and feel encouraged to continue.

 

“Anyway, none of them hover anywhere near this circuit. Kevin made sure of that when he told me to go out of state for races while we were still in Riverdale.”

 

“No danger of the town Sheriff having to find out, eh?”

 

“That’s right,” she said. She held out one palm for him to see. “You saw these. They were my way of coping with my mother’s impossible expectations. I was such a--God, Juggie, I had to be perfect. I wore turtleneck sweaters in pastel colors, skirts that barely showed my knees, perfectly fitted button up shirts, and dresses that would’ve put Jackie O’s stylist to shame. I grew up thinking--believing that if anyone else saw me as anything other than what my mother saw, I would be doomed to a life on the streets, coked up, and probably turning tricks.”  She paused and looked at him, grinning slightly. “You can probably imagine me as that preppy, overly polite princess.”

 

He pushed a stray hair from off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Probably, because there’s some of that polite and preppy that shows itself often enough, but the parts of you that’s all you--that’s how I see you.”

 

She felt pleased by what he said, because it meant less of Alice was making its way to the surface. “Until now I couldn’t utter a curse word without thinking that my mother would be rounding the corner with a diet of carrots and celery sticks for a week, as punishment.” She showed him how the crescent scars were formed by positioning her fingernails over them. “So whenever she made me do all the things she said I should do, I would do _this_ to relieve the pressure, and every time, I would draw blood. The only times I felt truly like myself was when I worked on my car. It was the only escape I had and I guarded that pleasure obsessively, knowing that if mom found out about it, she’d ruin it by turning it into some kind of item on my resume. Part of all this secrecy is that. I needed my own world, where no one who has ever had an expectation about me could wander into it.” She paused to take a breath, hoping she was painting a proper picture of this. “So I worked on my car--just worked on it. I wasn’t driving it then, and for a while it was everything I needed, but all that pressure was difficult to keep up with. The pressure kept building and I wasn’t doing enough to purge it, so when I couldn’t dig in my nails, I became bulimic, and when that wasn’t helping, either, I resorted to cutting.” She pulled back the bangles from her left arm and showed him a thick scar down her wrist.

 

He touched it and looked up at her compassionately. “Betts…”

 

“One night I cut too deep,” she said as she took a deep, cleansing breath. It was the only way to cope with the deep sense of shame that came over her when she talked about it, because she couldn’t shake the thought that it had been selfish and not a serious cry for help. “I didn’t mean to, or maybe I did. I’m still trying to work that out with my therapist. But at the time, I just wanted the tightness in my chest to stop, and I must have been heavy handed that night, or something. I don’t know. And it was Polly who found me bleeding to death.” Her eyes began to sting, but she fought the tears. She didn’t want to cry. Her therapist had told her it was alright, but she had years of practice _not_ crying. Alice had taught her that and it was a hard lesson to unlearn.

 

Betty went on. “She was the one who called 911. She was the one who told Chic everything that my mother was doing to me and that we couldn’t stay with our parents anymore. After that night, she began to get _heavily_ addicted to drugs, because she would have nightmares about me being dead. She would get high to forget what she had found in that bedroom. It was all my fault.”

 

“Don’t say that,” he said softly. “It wasn’t. Your mother drove both of you to it. Your father didn’t protect you.”

 

She smiled sadly. “I couldn’t help but carry that guilt with me, and for a while Chic was afraid I’d kill myself for real. In one of my worst nights, I took my car out for a ride. I didn’t have a license yet, just a permit, but I drove that car and I drove it _fast._ That night, I discovered that the speed and the turns gave me exactly what I needed. An outlet for the pain, a way to be myself without anyone judging me for it. I’ve been doing this, since. I’ve been racing, and hadn’t felt the need to hurt myself in the last 3 and a half years I’ve been doing this. I wanted it to be a secret because I didn’t want to fall back in the trap of Alice and her horrible expectations. I told Kevin, because he’s my best friend and I love him, and because I love _this._ It’s who I am.”

 

She turned on her seat to look at him. “Even if I didn’t want to tell you about this, I wasn’t afraid of you judging me, Jug. I was afraid of risking what you’ve made of your life. But I didn’t doubt that you’d understand why I did this. Maybe it’s because you were kind of a rebel on your own. I don’t know, but at Cheryl’s party, we connected on a level I’ve never felt with anyone before.”

 

He turned to look at her and took her face in his hands. “I’m crazy about you, Betty. I think I may do anything for you at this point.” He kissed her just to express how he felt about her. She melted into his arms, sighing happily when they separated.

 

“So I told you mine,” she whispered. “But you don’t have to tell me yours. Trust is earned.”

 

He looked her in the eyes and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “You’ll hate me for it.”

 

“Juggie, no. I know I won’t.”

 

He hesitated a moment, then he said it. “When I was with the Serpents, I stole cars.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious. I'm wondering if I should be posting my supernatural Bughead fic. It's world-buildy and was supposed to be a Halloween offering, but it didn't make it so now I feel slightly foolish posting it.


	8. Old Habits Die Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Serpent Jughead makes his presence known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it’s the Holidays, I thought I’d put out this next chapter now. No point in waiting.
> 
> Hold on to your seats, folks. This is going to be pretty fucking intense.

 

Here we are, don't turn away now,

We are the warriors that built this town.

Here we are, don't turn away now,

We are the warriors that built this town

From dust.

Will come

When you'll have to rise

Above the best and prove yourself,

Your spirit never dies!

Farewell, I've gone to take my throne above,

But don't weep for me

'Cause this will be

The labor of my love

\--Warriors, Imagine Dragons

 

Jughead hadn’t said that out loud in years.

 

He stole cars, and it was wrong and illegal, but damned if he hadn’t felt the thrill of it. Damned if he hadn’t felt the surge of adrenaline every time he floored the gas pedal to get away.

 

For months he told himself that stealing cars was better than running guns or dealing drugs. They stole from the rich, because they had jacked Ferraris, Corvettes, Porches, Jaguars, and even at one time, an Aston Martin. When the luxury sports cars ran thin, they stole expensive cars like Escalades, Lexuses, BMWs, and Audis. It was exciting and for a while, guilt free. Jughead was good at it.

 

Real good.

 

He was fast, fearless, and smart. And as Betty would probably put it, he had exquisite taste. He’d had to outrun the police at least half a dozen times, but they never caught him, and they never saw his face.

 

There may have been rumors that FP Jones II’s son was stealing luxury sports cars, but no one could pin any evidence on him, so it never became an official story.

 

Outside of the Serpents, Betty was the only one to ever hear him say it.

 

“I stole cars,” he said quietly. “That’s what I did. Started at 15 and stopped at 18, right after I got the call that my book would get published. I’m not proud of it now, but at the time, I loved it, Betts. It was fucking awesome and exciting. The kids in the gang--my friends, we made a game of it. Who could steal the best car? We thought it was _fun._ And more importantly, it made me enough money to take care of me and my little sister.”

 

She looked only mildly surprised, which was to Jughead a more positive sign than outright revulsion. So when she slipped her hands into his, he was feeling a little more optimistic.

 

“Juggie, I think I would’ve been worried sick about you stealing cars, and maybe I would’ve told you to stop it for your own safety, but for one, you’re talking to someone who’s earned money participating in illegal drag races and second, I never had to worry about supporting a younger sibling. You’re not going to find judgment from me.”

 

He never realized how scared he was about what she’d think of him until her words brought him immeasurable relief.

 

Her hands came up to touch his face. “But now I’m doubly worried about you being here. If the police come and raid this operation--”

 

“I am pretty much an expert at getting away from the police in a fast car. And even if I do get caught, they can’t pin me for any of the cars I stole in the past. Statute of limitations have passed…”

 

She stifled a laugh. “Did you have to look that up?”

 

“You bet I did.”

 

She gave him a sideward glance, smiling with the corner of her lips turned down. “Maybe you should race.”

 

He chuckled. “I am _not_ going to do that. I’m happy enough navigating. For you. I want to watch _you_ race.”

 

“Don’t you miss driving that fast, though? I would.”

 

He liked the feeling of driving fast. That would always be a thrill, but that wasn’t what had him hooked. And for all the secrets he had, he had a feeling he couldn’t bullshit her even if he wanted to.

 

“I miss the danger of getting away,” he said, truthfully. “The speed was just incidental to that. I missed always being one step ahead of the law. I don’t--I can’t be that person anymore. I don’t have to be.”

 

She seemed to accept that answer. She looked at her phone. “It’s almost time for the race. Ready?”

 

He began to stand up. “As I’ll ever be.”

 

She stood with him and pulled him in for a kiss that sent his body revving.

 

“For luck,” she whispered when they separated.

 

Cocking a smile, he laced his fingers through hers. “I already feel pretty fucking lucky.”

 

******************

 

Amsterdam Avenue was a long stretch of road that could only accommodate 2 cars at a time, so Betty only really had one opponent to race tonight.

 

Other challengers would have to get in line.

 

There were still a bit of time before she had to pull up her car to the starting lineup, so she took a moment to appreciate that long track of road. She felt Jughead’s hand on her shoulder. She covered his hand with hers.

 

“Hard to Get Betts?”

 

She turned at the sound of her nickname and was startled to see an outlandishly dressed man. He had a thick head of curly hair, sharp facial features, and a black leather jacket riddled with studs. He wore nothing under his jacket, which made her wonder whether that was comfortable. That leather couldn’t be gentle on the more sensitive parts of his chest. He was smiling, but instead of coming across as friendly, Betty got the impression that he was baring his fangs.

 

“Who wants to know?” she asked, her unfriendly tone punctuated by the arch of her eyebrow.

 

His razor-sharp grin did not waver. “Malachi.” He put out his hand. “I’ll be racing against you tonight.”

 

She looked at his hand, then his face. She didn’t want to touch his hand, but it was beyond impolite not to shake it. Reluctantly, she took it, intent on getting that firm grip over with, then letting his hand go, but his grip tightened around her, jerking her towards him, which made her gasp in surprise.

 

Malachi sneered, no doubt pleased by her reaction. “You are as beautiful as they say you--”

 

Jughead was between them in an instant, pushing Malachi by the shoulder roughly and getting in his face. “Get your goddamn hands off her, Ghoulie.”

 

Malachi laughed and put his hands up, but aside from the couple of steps he had to take because Jughead had forced it, he wasn’t going to back up any further.

 

Malachi wasn’t alone, and Betty was growing concerned that she had gotten Jughead in serious trouble.  She had no doubt that Malachi had done that specifically to bait Jughead, given Hans’s quick history lesson about Serpents and Ghoulies.

 

“Ah, Sweet Pea!” Malachi said, grinning. “Oh, that’s the _other_ tall dude. They call you _Jug-head_ . I mean, _that is_ your preferred Serpent name, right? You’re FP’s kid. Did your daddy send you here? Or did you just come here to protect your skank?”

 

_Oh, God._

 

Jughead looked livid, his shoulders tensing visibly as he moved forward and bumped it against Malachi’s. “You call her that one more time and I will rip your tongue out of your mouth and shove it back down your throat, you jingle jangle sniffing asshat--”

 

“Does Tall Boy know FP Jr.’s running with cars again?”

 

Betty could see that Jughead wasn’t going to back down and she had to do something fast to de-escalate the situation.

 

“Do I threaten you, Malachi?” Betty asked, hoping to throw a wrench in this building conflict. Her tone was calm, but firm. “Were you hoping to rattle me before the race? Because that shit doesn’t work on me.  I’m a stone cold bitch, and I’m going to wipe the floor with you on that track.”

 

That got Malachi’s attention, more so because his buddies started to laugh in the background. She could tell that he couldn’t believe she said that to him. She supposed he wasn’t used to women speaking to him so brazenly.

 

“You’re lucky we respect property around here,” Malachi hissed at her. “Even if we don’t respect its owners.”  He looked at Jughead pointedly.

 

Jughead’s gaze darkened and his scowl intensified. He was going to take a swing, but Betty gripped his arm.  “He’s not worth it, Jug. We’ll beat him on the track.”

 

Malachi scoffed, but he began to walk away with his entourage. Jughead watched him go and Betty was just glad that hadn’t escalated further.  She had no doubt Jughead would’ve willingly taken on Malachi and his goons.

 

She was half certain Hans would’ve stepped in at some point and put a stop to it, but she would rather Jughead didn’t get into any kind of skirmish at all, especially not on account of her.

 

“Juggie,” she said in a soft, mildly chastising tone. “There were, like, half a dozen of them…”

 

Jughead still had his gaze on Malachi in the distance. “Didn’t matter. I can’t let them disrespect you like that. Serpents never let that stuff slide, even if it means I get beaten, six to one.”

 

She took a moment to look at _this_ Jughead, the one who _was_ in a gang, expected to stand up to thugs and maybe get up on a dude’s face if they dared to cross some kind of line, even if he were badly outnumbered.

 

“Look at me, Jug,” she said, coaxing his gaze back to her.

 

He tore his eyes from Malachi and she saw that they were hardened to a glare.

 

“Let it go. He’s just trying to get into our heads.”

 

For a moment, the ice in his glare remained, but then it melted, and he was the Jughead she knew, once more. The guy who waited for her to touch him first in the closet. The guy who watched his baby sister like a hawk. The guy who showed up at the repair shop, bringing eclairs.    

 

His ears turned a bright shade of red as he gave her a rueful stare. “I guess I haven’t quite shed my Serpent skin.”

 

She shrugged. “You said so yourself--you never quite leave the Serpents.”

 

He sighed, casting another look at the Ghoulies over his shoulder. “Those days are over for me. That was just reflex. I was protecting you.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

 

He frowned, cupping her face. “That wasn’t your fault. It’s what I’m here for, remember?”

 

She wanted to tell him that when she agreed to bring him here, she wasn’t expecting that he’d actually put himself on the line for a brawl heavily weighed against him. She didn’t think he’d skirt the edges of an old gang war’s shadow.

 

The alarm on her phone went off, and she told him that was their cue to get in her car and get to the starting line.  

 

“I’m just glad I’m here for you, Betts,” he said. “I don’t want to think about what he would’ve done if you were by yourself.”

 

She pursed her lips for a moment, before leaning over and giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

 

He let her go and they both got into the car.  

 

She didn’t let on that this intertwining of his old life with this new one was giving her an uneasy feeling in her gut.  She didn’t tell him, either, that the uneasy feelings were brought, not only by apprehension, but by the fact that Serpent Jughead was seriously, undeniably, turning her on.

 

**********************

 

The roar of engines filled Betty’s senses and her heartbeat, instead of gaining speed, slowed to a steady, calming cadence. It was game time and she had this.  

 

“You ready, babe?” Jughead asked, beside her.

 

_Babe._

 

She could hardly keep the grin from lifting her lips. “Born ready.”

 

The flagger sauntered up the front. She was gorgeous, with black curly hair, a tight body, and a flattering shorts and letterman jacket combo that clung to her curves. She pointed one finger at Betty.

 

Betty nodded.

 

The flagger pointed a finger at Malachi, his Dodge Charger revving loudly as he nodded to signal that he was good to go.

 

The flagger raised her arms, her scarves flapping in the wind as the cheers of the crowd filled the entire track.

 

Her arms sliced down, and they were off.   

 

Betty felt it, the instant descent of pure, unadulterated silence in her head. No voices marred the quiet, no insecurities, no pain. Just a silent, soothing bliss.

 

She cocked a smile.

 

Hard to Get Betts was at the helm.

 

**************

 

She started fast and her car was a beast, pulling ahead almost immediately. At the end of the road, there was a turn.

 

Jughead tensed slightly on his seat as the curve came up fast. “Betts--”

 

“Watch me,” she breathed, calmly.

 

She pulled her clutch, shifted, drifted beautifully, then popped her clutch free to surge forward.

 

Jughead was so unbelievably turned on by how flawlessly executed that was that he could only shake his head in awe.

 

She grinned, flashing him a wink, and she continued to drive with that same, calculated precision. When she made those perfect turns, he reveled at the view of her lovely long legs shift whenever she changed gears. Her hair swished like a whip, and her arms were so well tuned to the rest of the car, it was like she was playing an entire orchestra with one instrument. It took all of his willpower to concentrate on his task, because if all he did was sit there and watch her being the most beautiful he’d ever seen her, he could die happy.

 

Her skills behind the wheel were fluid and amazing. She was never flustered or shaken. She was calm, collected, and completely content. At one point, Malachi skipped a turn, cutting through a street to get ahead of her.

 

She was having none of that, her jaw setting in an outraged clench.

 

Jughead told her to take a different turn and she followed his direction without question. He made her take two more turns and when they emerged from a side street, they were ahead of the Ghoulies, beating them at their own game.

 

“Final stretch. You’re going to beat them, baby,” Jughead said, grinning triumphantly.

 

The Ghoulies were close but behind them.

 

“Not yet. They’re going to try something, I just know it,” she said, the tension suddenly showing on her shoulders.

 

She was probably right.

 

The Ghoulies suddenly rocketed ahead and Betty made a sound of disgust.

 

“Ugh! NOS!” she hissed.

 

Jughead figured, but the way he saw it, nitrous oxide meant tanks, and tanks meant weight. When you’ve got a load like that in your caboose, that’ll slow you down.

 

“He punched it too soon. He’s not going to be able to keep it up!” Jughead said.

 

“I’m not going to let him win.”

 

Malachi cut her off ahead unnecessarily, but when his navigator began to emerge from the car’s ceiling hatch, a foreboding horror began to build in Jughead’s chest.

 

 _He wouldn’t,_ thought Jughead.

 

But these were the Ghoulies. They sold gutter drugs in schools. They carried guns at prom night. They burned businesses that didn’t pay them extortion money. Why wouldn’t they cheat on a street race?  

 

Jughead’s instincts for danger flared and he didn’t think twice. The sidewalk was completely clear of obstructions so he said, “Betty, when I say go, jump the sidewalk!”

 

“Shit!” she hissed, but she didn’t argue.

 

There was fire and Jughead knew a Molotov cocktail when he saw one. When it arched in the air, Jughead scream, “Now, Betts!”

 

She swerved with skill, her steely resolve and quick action turning him on at embarrassingly fast levels. The Camaro wheels bumped up on the sidewalk curb, tilting their vehicle as she pulled up beside Malachi’s car.   

 

Jughead saw the Molotov cocktail explode on the pavement behind them.  They had _just_ missed it.

 

“Fuck, that was bad!” Betty hissed.

 

It was a seriously dangerous thing to do, but it didn’t surprise Jughead in the least. That missile could have caused a fatal explosion. The only thing that saved them was his bone bred distrust of Ghoulies and Betty’s great driving skills.

 

Betty floored it, passing them. She flipped her middle finger at Malachi before she surged ahead, cutting in front of them on the road. The heaviness of the Ghoulies’ tanks cost them and she left them behind in the dust, passing the finish line convincingly.

 

She stepped on the brakes, coming to a dramatic, turning halt.

 

The cheers of the crowd filled the air, and the Ghoulies came to a stop several meters after them.

 

Jughead felt the rush of survival and victory, and he turned to her, breathless. “You were amazing!”

 

She was smiling, clearly ecstatic, but she was also staring at him with an expression that made his heart beat faster and his chest feel warmer. She looked at him like he was everything and he could hardly process what it meant.

 

“No, _you’re_ amazing,” she said, softly, pulling him by the collar of his jacket and kissing him, slow and languorous.

 

It was hot, and it made him want her, but it felt different. Maybe it was the unhurried nature of it, or perhaps it was the way her fingers caressed his face. He felt wanted, maybe needed, and he couldn’t think of anywhere else he would rather be.

 

When they separated, he looked into her green eyes, searching for something. He wasn’t quite sure yet what it was, but she wasn’t looking away so maybe he could stay here awhile.

 

Her bright smile broke the spell. “Ready for your adoring fans, Jughead?”

 

“I only care about the _one.”_

 

She laughed and jerked her head towards the crowd outside. “Come on!”

 

She stepped out and Jughead followed from his side of the car.

 

Hans came over to meet them, giving her a friendly bear hug and him a handshake half-hug, which Jughead supposed was the manly-man thing to do.

 

The Ghoulies sauntered over and all the triumph and exhilaration drained from Jughead’s body in an instant. Rage filled his chest. Betty could’ve been alone tonight. She could’ve been killed. This was beyond gang rivalries. This was personal. He surged forward, making straight for Malachi.

 

The smirk on Malachi’s face was taunting, but Jughead knew that one on one Malachi didn’t stand a chance in hell. Malachi tried to swing, but Jughead was faster.  He easily  threw a punch that connected with Malachi’s jaw, sending him stumbling back..  

 

“Juggie!” he heard Betty scream, as another Ghoulie started to advance towards him.

 

Jughead pushed Betty behind him, ready to take on another goon, but there were suddenly dozens of bodies between him and the Ghoulies, and Hans’s voice boomed above all, coming right between the sea of people. “What the fuck, man?”

 

Jughead yelled above the din. “Those Ghoulies tossed a Molotov cocktail in the middle of the race _at_ Betty’s car! That shit is still burning at Elmont, right before Sobro street. Go on and see it for yourself!”

 

Hans frowned after seemingly recovering from his shock, he whirled around to face Malachi. “You threw a Molotov cocktail at Betty’s car,” he repeated, as if he could hardly believe his ears.

 

Malachi laughed, spitting out a wad of blood. He swiped at his lips roughly with the back of his hand, tossing Jughead a glare. “Come on, Hans. It was just a little something to spice up the race.”

 

Hans, however, did not think this funny. He advanced, and as jovial as Hans seemed when he was working the circuit, he was, after all, a leader in his own right. His own gang emerged from the crowd, flanking him as he stood in front of Malachi.

 

“Betty,” Hans said.  “What do you want me to do with this piece of shit right here?”

 

Jughead looked over his shoulder at her, and he could see that her green eyes had a glint of steel in them.

 

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I never want to see their faces in this circuit again. I see them, I bounce. Get my drift, Hans?”

 

_Stone cold._

 

“Roger that,” Hans said. He looked to his boys. “You heard the lady. Get these assholes out of my sight. _Ahora!”_

 

There was a scuffle as the few Ghoulies in the crowd resisted, but they were overcome by Hans’s crew and soon enough, they’d gotten packed into Malachi’s car, some making a run for it on foot.  As the Dodge Charger left, Jughead had a distinct feeling that this wasn’t going to be the last they’ll see of the Ghoulies.  

 

“Betty, you keep coming to my races and I will do whatever the hell you want,” Hans said, handing her a thick envelope.  “Bring your boyfriend, too. I like him. He’s exciting.”

 

This had to be the first time Jughead had ever heard someone else describe him as exciting, but he was distracted from making a sarcastic retort when Hans handed him an envelope of his own.  

 

Confused, Jughead looked in it and saw a thick stack of bills. “What--”

 

“You get something for navigating, too,” Hans told him with a wink.

 

Betty grinned. “Thanks for the race, Hans. And for this.” She held up the envelope. “Until next time.”

 

Hans bowed dramatically.

 

She headed back to her car and as she met Jughead’s gaze, she winked at him and jerked her head towards her Camaro. “Let’s go.”

 

He grinned, pocketed the envelope, and followed. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

*******************

 

When they parked her car back in storage, they packed what belongings they brought and headed back to her apartment on his motorcycle.

 

Her trench was back on and with it, she seemed to shed some of her sassy, tough as nails persona. But knowing it was in there gave him that reassurance that he knew both sides of her and that he was enamored of _all_ of her.

 

It was always hard to talk on the bike, so they didn’t have much conversation while on the ride, but the feel of her arms and legs around him, the shape of her body pressing against his back, and her breath on his ear when they had to stop at lights, made him want her so desperately, that when he finally parked his bike on her street, he immediately tore off his helmet, turned around, and kissed her heatedly, practically pulling her off his bike as he held her tight against him.

 

Her soft whimper told him this wasn’t their goodbye kiss.

 

“Come up with me, Juggie,” she whispered, panting.

 

Grabbing both their backpacks, he let her lead them up her apartment building.

 

The elevator was still broken, so the flights up the stairs was particularly torturous, but they kissed deeply at intervals, his hands touching parts of her that made her moan in frustration.

 

When they got to her floor, he took her face in his hands and kissed her less hurriedly, enjoying their arrival for a few moments more before she turned and desperately tried to key them in.

 

He caught her by the waist from behind, kissing and tasting the back of her neck in slow, wet circles. He was so hard that she could probably feel his erection through her skimpy hot pants.

 

She moaned as she gave him more access, somehow multitasking--turning the lock of her apartment while making him as horny for her as hell.

 

The door finally opened and they stumbled in, their lips locked and their tongues swirling against each other.

 

“Quietly,” she whispered, pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

 

He kissed her hard, causing the door to slam shut behind her and her whimper to escalate in volume.

 

“Quietly,” he teased against her mouth, beginning to undo the buttons of her shorts.

 

She slapped his chest lightly, but she transitioned it to a gentle rub, lowering her hands to his belt to unbuckle it. He moved to take his boots off, kicking it off once he’d loosened the laces.  Kissing, walking, and undressing all at once, Betty was down to her underwear by the time they got to her room. She still had her boots and thigh high stockings on, however.

 

“Oh, my God, Betty,” he groaned, taking in the sexy purple lace panties and bra that made her look like every guy’s fantasy, _especially_ with her footwear still on.

 

She pulled off his flannel and tank, then pushed down his pants, revealing the tattoo on his chest, the one on his back, just behind his left shoulder of a double-headed snake, and the Latin one written on the left of his abs, just above the waist of his boxers: _Luctor et emergo._

 

“I struggle and emerge,” she read, whispering, as she pushed down on the garter of his boxers and took him in her clever hands.

 

He wasn’t sure whether her ministrations were sexier than her being able to read latin, but either way, it made him want to do things to her that would put any porn star to shame.

 

He groaned as her hand moved along his length. He could hardly stand it, so he lifted her in his arms, kissing her mouth, neck, and the swell of her breasts as he carried her to her bed.

 

He dumped her on top of her coverlet, his lips descending upon her throat, then the valley between her breasts. He could smell her perfume, and it was addicting, that flowery layer mixing with the natural scent of her body.

 

He could’ve just ripped off her bra and panties, but he didn’t want to be in a hurry. He wanted to unwrap her slowly. He wanted to prolong this because finally, _finally_ , they were going to be able to do this.

 

Jughead’s kisses and tongue trailed down her stomach and down her navel, then teasingly, he skipped over her panties and kissed her along her inner thighs.

 

She moaned in frustration. “Are you kidding me, Juggie? Oh, God…” She arched her back, sinking her fingers into his hair and tugging ever so mildly.

 

He grinned, kissing the spot just above where her stockings ended. _“These_ are sexy as hell.” He ran his hands along her stockings and boots. “I’ve wanted to take them off you all night.”

 

She looked at him with lust blown eyes and smiled. “I wanted to drive you crazy.”

 

“Mission accomplished,” he said in a low tone, unzipping one boot, tossing it aside, and peeling off the stocking. Free of its trappings, he made circles with his tongue on the inside of her knee, then draping that leg over his shoulder, he did the same for the other leg, and with both her legs free, he made his way back to her center, his hands sliding beneath the lacy fabric of her panties and pulling them off as he kissed her thighs, then the juncture connecting her legs and body, and finally her core, which tasted intoxicatingly sweet.

 

Her cry of pleasure made him drunk on her, and he kept wanting to hear her voice through his haze. He slid his fingers inside of her when he kissed the bundle of nerves just above, then he let his tongue join his fingers while his thumb pressed gently in tandem. Her hips bucked against him and her fingers dug into his scalp.

 

“Oh, my God, Juggie,” she gasped, her back arching. “Don’t stop.”

 

He had no such intentions. The first night they met, he wanted to make her come, so now he was going to do this as many times as his and her body allowed.

 

She was moaning, speaking incoherently in what was a combination of pleading, ordering, and approval. And then there were no more words, because she was coming.

 

****************

 

Betty’s mind went blank as the waves of orgasm crested over her and took over her body. She was loud. Have never been so loud until now, but God, Jughead was good at this, or maybe good with her. Either he lied about his minimal experience with women or he Googled that shit or they were just more attuned to each other than either of them realized.

 

She let her climax take her away then bring her back in, leaving her breathless, vulnerable, sweaty, and wanting more.

 

When he rose above her and captured her lips with his, she could taste herself on his tongue. She wanted to praise him and pet him, telling him no man had ever done that for her before and that he was a fantastic lover, but he hadn’t given her the chance.

 

She could only moan in approval, hoping he understood all her unspoken words in that primal vocalization. She wanted badly to return the favor, because as a teenager who, for most of highschool, was expected to stay a virgin for as long as possible on whatever technicality there was, she knew at least that she gave pretty good head.

 

She pushed him gently onto his back on the bed, grinning when he asked her what she was doing. She climbed atop him and she grinned, liking this vantage point. She slid her fingers playfully down his chest. “Right now, I am so very pleased with you.”

 

He arched an eyebrow, his smirk scattering the butterflies in her stomach. “Oh, yeah?”

 

“Hmm, you know it.”  She kissed his chest, where the tattoo was, wishing she had been there when he was so lonely, he chose to immortalize the emotion on his skin.

 

He sighed, running his fingers gently through her hair and careful not to tangle his fingers in her braids. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders as she kissed his stomach, lined just enough with abs gained from manual labor.

 

The latin inscription along his hip made her uncomfortably hot. She wanted his cock buried into her, hard, deep, and fast because of it, but she saved that for later. With her center burning and aching, she resisted the urge so she could give him a blowjob he would never forget.

 

When she peeled off his boxers and took him in her mouth, her hands working in tandem, she heard him moan, felt the vibration of it through his body and in her mouth.

 

“O-oh, _fuck,”_ he groaned, his fist tightening in her hair. “Oh, fuck, Betts--”

 

She smiled, winking at him but hardly missing a beat as her clever mouth and tongue worked his penis, loving the perfect size of it, admiring its smooth, circumcised shape. She wondered momentarily if she could find it a beanie in its size, because really, it was as gorgeous as she expected it to be and it deserved a hat. She wasn’t surprised. He was so tall, and his hands so dexterous and long. No fucking wonder.

 

She sucked and licked with with confidence, empowered by having absolute control.

 

“Stop,” he pleaded. “You need to stop--oh, God, that feels so fucking good. Betts, you’re so good--stop. Stop, _now.”_

 

Pouting though she was, she did stop. Let it be known that Betty Cooper was a huge endorser of consent. “But I was just getting to the good part…”

 

He chuckled, his head falling back on her pillows in relief. “God, I know. I _know._ You are so amazing, but I don’t want to come like that. Not tonight.” He took her shoulders in his hands, warmed by their foreplay, and he sat up, pulling her up at eye level. “I have condoms in the pocket of my jeans--”

 

Happily, they were within reach, and Betty hooked his jeans with her hands. He fished out a packet and she took it from him, grinning as she tore its wrapping open and winking as she slid it smoothly over his cock, pumping him a couple of times as if to test its fit.

 

He groaned as he watched her. “They did _not_ teach that in sex ed class.”

 

“Maybe I took the advanced course,” she whispered, as his hands began to unclasp her bra. When her breasts were free, he pulled her up to straddle his body as his mouth closed over one nipple and then the other.

 

She gasped, encircling his head with her arms. She threw her head back with a moan, but she shifted and pushed her hips down, taking him inside her.

 

He moaned praises of her and her body. His hands tight on her hips. When she started to move, he guided her speed with his hands, worshipping her breasts with his lips and tongue. Her build up to orgasm was coming in fast waves. He felt so fucking good inside her.

 

When his lips pulled away from her and his fingers worked her clit, she lost it, climaxing noisily, calling his name in the throes of her orgasm. She always thought no one was that noisy and meant it, and yet here she was.

 

She was gasping and weak when she finished. So she barely realized it when he was lowering her on her back, kissing her neck slowly as he did.

 

“Was that as good as it sounded?” He asked softly. “Because I’ve wanted to do that to you since the first night we met.”

 

That he’d desired her so much that first day renewed her own desire. She kissed him hard, shifting her hips underneath him.

 

He hitched her legs around his hips and entered her fluidly, moving in her in a steady rhythm, moaning into her ear the things she made him and his body feel. Telling her how gorgeous and wet and sexy she was, and how he’d imagined fucking her countless times.

 

His words fascinated her and built her orgasm all at the same time. She gasped, telling him she was going to come hard.

 

“I’m going to come with you,” he murmured desperately. “I am _so close,_ Betty.”

 

He pushed harder into her and the pressure sent her fluttering around him.

 

They orgasmed together, their cries mingling in the dimness of her room.

 

**********

This felt like a dream. Or a major breakdown.

 

Betty wondered if she’d finally gone off the deep end and she was living a mental breakdown as if it were real, because reality could never be this fantastic.

 

Jughead’s weight on her body was comforting and pleasant. His breath tickled her throat. That he was still inside her with no hurry to leave felt warm and intimate, which gave her ample time to pretend that he was in love with her, because some time between winning that race, watching him fight for her in all his Serpent glory, and riding behind him on his motorcycle, she realized she was falling fast and hard.

 

She ran her fingers lazily through his luscious black hair. “God, Juggie. It was every bit as wonderful as I thought it would be.”

 

He looked up from the crook of her neck. He wasn’t smirking, but he wasn’t scowling either. Instead he looked into her eyes and touched her face. “You make me want to do right by you.”

 

If it was possible for her feelings to get any more intense, his words did just that. She kissed him, just for that, sighing into his mouth as he shifted out of her. They took a moment to do what they needed to do, disposing of the condom and whatnot. When all that was done, she snuggled under her sheets and he settled more comfortably beside her. He continued their lazy makeout as if nothing had interrupted it, and that made her giggle softly. He laughed softly, too, but went on contentedly. She didn’t resist.

 

The fires were low now, having spent their intensity earlier, but she felt the slight hum of desire still in her belly, just enough to enjoy this post-coital intimacy.

 

When they finally separated, she lay on her side, enjoying the soothing profile of his face. The damp dark hair falling in curls on the sides of his forehead, his high cheekbones, the patrician nose, and those ocean-blue eyes that changed to gunmetal when he was furious or ridden with desire.

 

He sought her hand and she took it. Lacing their fingers together, he held her hand to his chest so that she had to lie closer to him. She had no complaints. She did not want any space between them.

 

“Juggie?”

 

He turned to her, a gentle smile on his face. “Yeah?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He lay his head back on the pillow and laughed softly. “Well, you’re very welcome. I enjoyed that, too.”

 

She couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her. “Not about _that--_ well, I take that back. Maybe I should thank you for that, because God, Jug--”

 

He kissed the back of her hand. “Right back at you.”

 

The smile she gave him in response was so full of her growing feelings for him that for a moment, it looked like he could see it in her gaze. But she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and perhaps neither is he. She went on in her original train of thought. “I wanted to thank you for being with me tonight. For taking all that in--not just the racing, but _everything,_ and you didn’t run away.”

 

“Betty… what kind of sonofabitch would I be if I ran away?”

 

For some reason, she was mildly amused by this surprising glimpse of naivete. Perhaps there were still some things Jughead Jones hasn’t seen, even in his hard life.

 

“Oh, the usual kind. The normal kind,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly. “After Polly found me, I went from Perfect Betty to Suicide Girl. Kevin was the only one who stood by me after everyone in school found out. My boyfriend at the time dumped me with some bullshit excuse about not being good for me--he could’ve just told me he couldn’t handle my issues. I’d have understood. The cheerleading squad gave me ‘time off’ and then later told me that it seemed kind of mood-killing that the cheerleader was suicidal, and then nobody could look me in the eyes. It was surreal. They all spoke to me in these sickly sweet voices, like, ‘Hi, Betty, how are you? I hope you’re doing great. If this is too hard for you, let us know, okay?’  I swear, it was almost frightening.”

 

He cocked a rueful smile. “Sorry people are assholes.”

 

She shook her head. “People aren’t assholes. They don’t want to see pain and that’s completely understandable. It’s like when I close my eyes at the goriest deaths of a slasher film. Only, in real life, it’s me they can’t look at. You weren’t afraid to look.”

 

His thumb rubbed circles on the back of her hand and he reach over with his other hand to rearrange some of the hair that had fallen over her cheek. “There’s nothing to be afraid of when I look at you, Betts. Besides, I’m a pretty tough motherfucker.”

 

She giggled at that, too. Of course, that tough, Serpents side of him wasn’t as obvious as the brooding, sullen, loner vibe he tended to exude more frequently, but _now_ she knew how tough he was, and apart from lighting a fire in her core, it did make her feel absurdly safe.

 

“Stay here, tonight?” she asked, softly. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow if you do.”

 

He laughed. “Betty,” he began pointedly. “You don’t have to bribe me with food to stay with you.”

 

She blushed, covering her face with her hand. “Sorry, I’m just--I guess I really want you to stay.”

 

He shifted and pulled her close in his arms and tangling their legs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

His mouth was close enough to kiss with an easy tilt of her chin, so she did, and then she smiled, burrowing into his embrace. “Good. This is where I want you to be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, I wrote most of this story before we got the drag racing plot in “Death Proof”, so Malachi did not exist in this world in the first draft. Malachi used to be two dudes named Uhtred and Lars, known as the Danes, and Jughead tells Uhtred “Eyes up, Frost Giant,” when he kept looking at Betty’s boobs. LOL. Needless to say, I’ve revised heavily since incorporating Malachi into this world.


	9. After Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead and Betty find themselves in a relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're slowing things down for a bit in this chapter and that should be fine, right?
> 
> Working on some inspiration boards on Pinterest for [Drive](https://www.pinterest.com/adamanteveao3/drive/). If that strikes your fancy, you can head on over there. 
> 
> I also worked on one for [Harvest to Home](https://www.pinterest.com/adamanteveao3/harvest-to-home/), but that's kind of belated.

 

Trippin' out

Spinnin' around

I'm underground, I fell down

Yeah, I fell down

 

I'm freakin' out

So where am I now?

Upside down

And I can't stop it now

It can't stop me now,

\-- _Alice,_ by Avril Lavigne

  


When Betty opened her eyes to the sunlight seeping through the slats of her bedroom blinds, she was elated that Jughead was still there.

 

He was sleeping soundly beside her, his face on the pillow and his arms scooping the same pillow underneath. She admired the hard lines on his arms and loved that he was naked under the sheets.

 

She didn’t want to wake him just yet, so quietly, she got out of bed, threw on an oversized sweater and a pair of her running shorts and got ready for the day.

 

It was the middle of the week and she didn’t have an early class, so she could take some time to enjoy the morning. She could only hope Jughead was aware of his own class schedule.

 

As she surveyed the living room, she saw pieces of their nocturnal activities strewn across the floor, from the front door to the one for her bedroom. Her jacket, her hot pants, her crop top, his jacket, his boots--even now in the brightness of the morning, the memories gave her a hot thrill.

 

She started picking up the mess, setting aside his boots neatly and hanging his jacket up on the back of a chair. Her own clothes she bundled up and dumped in her clothes hamper in the bathroom.

 

Kevin was still asleep. She knew he was here because his coat and scarf were hanging from the coat rack. She had been afraid their racket would rouse him last night, and honestly, it probably did.

 

Kevin had always been a light sleeper, a fact she quickly learned when they started doing sleepovers at age 12, but Kevin didn’t generally have to worry about waking up to the illicit sounds of noisy sex.  She didn’t have many lovers, and if she did happen to have one, she very rarely brought them home with her to their shared apartment.   

 

This was certainly going to be an interesting morning after.

 

With the mess straightened out, she started to make breakfast for everyone. She always had pancake mix handy--made it herself, of course, and she pulled out some eggs, sausages and bacon. If Kevin preferred something a little less caloric, she could easily slice up some cantaloupe and serve it with cottage cheese, but for the moment, she could probably throw some blueberries in the pancakes to sweeten the deal Kevin had to make with the treadmill.

 

She loved cooking food for her loved ones. She is excited to cook food for Jughead.

 

By the time Kevin stumbled out of his room, the coffee was hot in its pot, the bacon, eggs, and sausages were ready, some bread was toasting, and she had several pancakes stacked on a plate.

 

Kevin shambled to the coffeepot, poured himself some in a mug, and loaded it with cream and sugar. He sat at the counter, sipping his coffee for a few minutes before the light turned on in his eyes and he said, “Are you trying to bribe me with food because you know that you kept me up with your racket last night?”

 

She shrugged.  “I don’t know, should I? You stuck your nose in my business, telling Jughead my deepest, arguably darkest, secret. I should be screaming furious with you right now.”

 

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Please. That wasn’t just your business anymore, it was mine, too. I did what I had to do.  Besides, just _look_ at these eye bags. I waited up for you _all night.”_

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, I kind of fell asleep 15 minutes after I told Jughead to go get you, but I figured he’d call me if anything went wrong.”

 

Betty gave him a chastising look. “Jughead told me you were staying up nights just worrying about me.”

 

 _“That_ is the truth.  Every single time you snuck out without telling me or when you ran off on me, I would stay up, worried and scared, but this time, with Jughead there, I actually felt reassured that you would be safe and the exhaustion of worrying about you caught up with me.”  

 

She looked at Kevin’s face. Really looked at it. The bags _were_ there, and it wasn’t just because they kept him up last night. “I’m sorry, Kevin.”

 

He sighed, drinking more of his coffee. “I’m sorry, too, that I went behind your back, but I stand by what I did. I had an instinct for Jughead and I think I was right. He’s a badass, isn’t he?”

 

Betty refused to answer that on principle.  

 

“I’m never wrong,” Kevin continued, haughtily. “And really, after what I heard last night, you should be in a good enough mood to forgive the entire world.”

 

She sighed. She had been angry with Kevin last night, but too much had happened between Kevin spilling the beans and waking up with Jughead in her bed. “I reserve the right to bring it up again some other time and yell at you. In the meantime, you’re half right. I’m in a fabulous mood and even your subterfuge isn’t enough to dampen it.”  She pushed a plate of pancakes in his direction. “It has blueberries.”

 

Kevin paused, mid sip, and eyed the blueberry pancakes with an arched eyebrow. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she replied, sipping some of her coffee.

 

“So did he stay?”

 

“Why do you think I have all this food?”

 

“God, how good _was_ he?”

 

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “He’s got a huge appetite, Kev. Really, you should see him wolf down a platoon’s worth of food.”

 

“He was wolfing something down last night for sure.”

 

“Kev! Jesus.” She felt her face warming and she turned to make a new batch of pancakes.  Kevin let her work in peace, eating his breakfast.  

 

With the new stack of pancakes done, she told Kevin she would see if Jughead was awake.

 

She went into her room and climbed into bed with him, slipping her arms and legs around him under the sheets.

 

He stirred, smiling sleepily and putting his arms around her. “Hmm, why are you clothed?”

 

Laughing softly, she kissed him on the lips, but did not encourage anything more than that. “I made breakfast. Come on out while it’s still hot.”

 

He sniffed audibly. “Is that bacon?”

 

“At least.”

 

“You are a goddess.”

 

“I know. Get dressed and come out. Kevin’s awake.” She slipped out of the sheets, grinning as she felt his hand caressing her ass.

 

She stepped out of her room and joined Kevin at the counter. Jughead soon followed, wearing his jeans and tank top, looking sexy with his incredible bed head. Kevin’s eyebrow arched approvingly, and stifling her smile, Betty poured Jughead a cup of coffee to give to him.

 

“Cream and sugar?” she asked him.

 

He shook his head. “Black is fine.”  He sipped and made a sound of approval. “Thanks.” He looked at the spread. “This looks great, Betts. Hey, Kevin.  How’s it going?” He took a seat at the counter.

 

“Fine, thanks. Jesus, Jughead, how the hell do you get those arms? Can I touch them?”

 

“It’s too early to objectify, Kevin,” Betty said, rolling her eyes and giving Jughead a plate and cutlery.

 

“I’m just curious about his workout, that’s all.”

 

Jughead shrugged. “Construction work, every so often. Not the fanciest gym in town, especially the bathrooms.”

 

“Ooh! Lots of sweaty men there, I bet.”

 

“Kevin, what did we say?” Betty said in her best teacher voice.

 

Kevin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Men are our friends, not sex objects. With the exception of the Chrises.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Chrises?” Jughead asked.

 

Kevin started counting off his fingers. “Chris Hemsworth, Evans, Pines, and Pratt… but Jughead isn’t painting a clear picture. What do you do when you’re _not_ working construction?”

 

Jughead fought the grin on his face and shook his head. “When there isn’t construction work, I go to the gym at our apartment building. Usually when I do my laundry, which is about twice a week. There’s a punching bag there. It’s therapeutic.”

 

The thought of him punching a bag and sweaty made her think all sorts of unholy thoughts. “When is the next laundry day and how can I help you with it?” Betty asked, winking.

 

He smirked. “You can bring your _delicates_ and we can put them in a gentle cycle together.”

 

Betty bit her lip to keep from giggling.

 

“God, as if I didn’t already get an earful last night,” Kevin muttered.

 

Jughead paused and Betty could see his ears turning a bright red.  

 

Kevin smelt blood, for sure. “I mean, I did put on earphones, but no amount of _It’s Raining Men_ can drown out--”

 

 _“It’s Raining Men?”_ Jughead asked, eyebrow arching in disbelief. “That’s the gay anthem you’re going with?”

 

Even Kevin seemed surprised by his unexpected question.

 

“Well,” Kevin huffed. “What would you have gone with?”

 

“Definitely _I Want to Break Free,_ by Queen.”

 

Betty bit her lip to stifle a giggle and Kevin sipped some coffee before he said, simply, “Good choice.”

 

Jughead’s smirk of accomplishment was priceless. He took a huge stack of pancakes, bacon, and sausages, poured maple syrup on the cakes, then started to carve into it.  “God, this is good. You didn’t have to, Betts, but I’m so glad you did.”

 

“I wanted to,” she said, shrugging happily.

 

She could feel Kevin’s eyes on her as he sipped his coffee. In all the years they’ve been best friends, Kevin knew what it meant when she cooked for someone.   

 

Mercifully, all he said was, “Betty, honey, I reserved us slots for spin class. You don’t have to take the classes but you have a spot if you want one.”

 

“Thanks, Kev,” she said, smiling at him gratefully.

 

“So, how did last night’s race go?” Kevin asked, instead, which Betty thought was incredibly bizarre. She and Kevin never discussed races in the morning after, especially not if they had company. In the past, previous races were only ever brought up again on the night _of_ the next race, usually when they were both in her car, but never the morning after. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was some kind of inherent instinct to keep their illegal activities from seeing the light of day.  

 

Jughead’s eyebrow arched, exchanging a questioning look with Betty. He was probably waiting for her to say something. To share only what _she_ wanted to share. She never wanted to keep secrets from Kevin, but she didn’t want to worry him, either.

 

She took a couple of pancakes and put it on her plate.  “Went well. Won the race.”

 

“Figured,” Kevin muttered. “Who were you up against. Anyone I know?”

 

“I doubt it,” Betty said. “He calls himself Malachi. He’s a Ghoulie, apparently.”

 

“Shut up,” Kevin gasped. “Ghoulie, as in _the_ gang? I heard they’re nasty.”

 

Betty scowled. “Does everyone except me know about this gang?”

 

“My ex was in a gang, remember? And my dad’s a cop. Of course I heard about the Ghoulies,” Kevin pointed out.

 

“They’re the worst,” Jughead said, lightly, but he put his hand over her thigh, rubbing gently, and she wondered if he was thinking about the danger that was involved in last night’s race.

 

“I bet they never saw you coming, B,” Kevin said, grinning.

 

She reached up and rubbed Jughead’s cheek with her thumb, and as she looked into Jughead’s eyes, they came to a silent agreement that Kevin wasn’t going to know everything that happened last night.  

 

“They never do,” she whispered, biting her lip.

 

They finished breakfast with Kevin managing to keep it light. He excused himself first, saying that he needed to get ready for class.

 

“What time’s your next class?” Betty asked Jughead, standing up to take her plate to the sink.

 

He caught her by the waist, hauling her to his lap. Her giggling faded against the press of his lips on hers.

 

“Not until 11,” he muttered, their lips still pressed together.  His tongue flicked into her mouth and she met it with a happy hum.

 

She felt his hand sliding to her inner thigh and she shivered pleasantly at his touch, but as much as she wanted to see where this was going, she had no choice but to extricate herself from his embrace. “I’ve got a ten o’clock and it’s already 8:30. You’re going to make me late, Jughead Jones.”

 

“Now, wait a second,” he said, pulling her back in. “That’s _plenty_ of time for you to get ready. You’ll have _at least_ 20 minutes to spare on--well, anything you want, baby.”

 

She laughed, pecking another kiss on his lips, determined to stick to her schedule.

 

“What time’s your class after the one this morning?” he asked.

 

“4, but I have to be at the auto shop by 1. It’s going to be tight.”

 

“Perfect. I can bring you to the auto shop after my 11 am class, do some writing around the area, then bring you to your 4 pm.”

 

“Are you just going to chauffer me around the city the whole day?”

“If it’s the only time I can get to spend with you today, yeah. If I hadn’t ambushed you at your garage last night, we probably _still_ won’t be seeing each other until tomorrow.”

 

She thought it felt nice to feel this wanted.

 

They agreed to meet after her last class and watch the Moth series at the Strand.  They would have a nice pizza dinner at the nearby Ribalta restaurant, reasonably priced, though not _college_ cheap. They did, however, have a bit of money to burn after last night, so they can allow themselves a bit of a splurge.

 

As Jughead helped Betty clear the table and put away the plates, she finally asked him about something Malachi said last night.

 

“So those names Malachi mentioned,” Betty began, carefully. “Sweet Pea, I think? And one other name…”

 

Jughead didn’t answer immediately.  “Tall Boy.”

 

She nodded. “Do you know them?”

 

He cocked a barely perceptible smile. “Yeah. Tall Boy took over for dad when he went to jail. He’s the de facto leader of the Serpents right now.  Sweet Pea… he was part of my crew. The younger Serpents, they have their own leader. Still answers to the president, but a leader nonetheless.”

She didn’t know much about gang politics, but with Jughead’s father having lead in the past, it seemed logical to assume that Jughead would’ve been next in line if he wanted it.  “And you were the leader of that crew before you left.”

 

Jughead shrugged. “Someone had to be. I was smarter than the rest of them. Sweet Pea was trying to fill that role before I came into the picture, so surprise: he and I had our differences. He wasn’t the thinking kind, but he was fearless and loyal to the Serpents. We grew to respect one another and eventually, he followed my lead.  I told him to take over when I left to do my own thing.”  

 

“Are you still friends with him?”

 

“Last time I talked to him, yeah.”

 

“Which was?”

 

“Before I left for my book tour.”

 

Betty didn’t have to mention how that was a while, now.  Then again, she certainly wasn’t asking to judge. Things happened, people moved on. It didn’t sound like they were childhood best friends like Jughead and Archie are, but there did seem to be an unmistakable level of trust and history there.

 

“I wonder what that would’ve been like,” she mused out loud. “If I had met you while you were with the Serpents.”

 

He chuckled, setting the last of the plates by the sink and rinsing them. “Like maybe at a high school party?”

 

She nodded, laughing at the prospect. “I’d be there because Kevin would’ve convinced me somehow that I needed to get out and have fun and I’d have been nursing the same drink all night.”

 

“And I’d be there because Sweet Pea would’ve convinced me that it would be fun to crash and maybe trash the rich kids’ party--a party that _Archie_ had probably invited me to in the first place.”

 

Betty thought that an interesting angle. She hadn’t thought much about how different Jughead would have been in his Serpent days. “Would we have liked each other if we had met?”

 

He did seem to think about it for a moment. “Prissy princess with the turtleneck sweaters? Oh, yeah. I’d have wanted to get under your skin. Get a rise out of you and rankle that perfect picture. At least, that would’ve been my excuse.”

 

Betty shook her head, grinning. “I’d have been all over you, Jughead Jones. I’d be terrified my mom would find out about you, but I’d have been on you. I was so tired of forcing myself to think that everything was going to be fine that you would’ve been a welcome hurricane.”

 

“Hurricane?” He laughed.

 

“Leather jacket, gang tattoos, and a motorcycle? You would’ve been one for the books.”

 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his eyes conveying a fondness that warmed her very bones. “Classic _Rebel Without a Cause.”_

 

“We really need to see that movie together.”

 

‘You always--” he said, tilting her chin up with his finger and bringing her lips closer to his. “--have the best ideas.”

 

He tasted like maple syrup on her tongue, and as she smiled into the kiss, all she could think was that Jughead could be the Jim to her Judy any time.

 

*********

 

They had twenty minutes to spare, so after having vigorous but furiously quiet sex in her bedroom, Betty reluctantly extricated herself from Jughead’ arms and declared that if they wanted to get out on time, they needed to shower together.  Jughead didn’t argue _and_ he made that shower worth her while.

 

After they managed to get out of the shower without running out of hot water, she was dressed and ready to go to school. He dropped her off at her class and headed back to his apartment to get a change of clothing.

 

His apartment had been blessedly free of his roommates. He didn’t think he could handle the questions of both Archie and Jellybean so early on, not because he wouldn’t be glad to sit them down and talk about all this, but because that’s exactly what he wanted to do--have a nice long conversation with them instead of a hurried, summarized version of what was happening between him and Betty. He didn’t want to be seeing them until they all had time for this conversation.

 

So after he put on a fresh set of clothes, he went to his favorite coffee shop and wrote before _he_ went to class.

 

The day went as planned, spending as much time with Betty between classes and her job and him writing as he waited. He managed to put a dent on his second novel, something he hadn’t done in a while. Perhaps Betty had jump started his inspiration, because after he dropped off Betty for her last class of the day, he kept writing.

 

By the time his words were spent for the day, it was around 5 in the afternoon and about the time he should be getting ready to see Betty again, so he packed up, headed back up to his apartment and got ready for his date.  

 

Jellybean was there, and while her eyebrow arched questioningly when she saw him walk out of his room dressed in his best jeans and sweater, she said nothing, and Jughead was grateful. He wasn’t ready to talk about it all with either her or Archie yet.

 

He picked Betty up at her apartment, and even in relatively more casual clothes, she looked stunning to him. They went to the Strand for the latest in the Moth series.

 

The Moth series was a daily storytelling forum held in different venues all over the big cities of the US. Storytellers were expected to talk about their real lives, and while there were many comedians, writers, and artists who got up on stage to tell their tales, storytellers came from all walks of life--scientists, college students, convicts, fashion designers, fathers, daughters, business owners, prostitutes, nuns, rabbis, immigrants, refugees, cops, veterans, on and on. Apparently, Betty loved all those stories. She listened to the podcast daily, but nothing beat listening to them live. Jughead enjoyed these stories as well, and they sat in the audience to listen to people from all walks of life tell their tales, sometimes heartbreaking, often funny, some purely fascinating.

 

After the Strand, they went to Ribalta, as planned, enjoying delicious Italian fare.

 

Their dinner conversation was invigorating, filled with literary and geeky references that stimulated his brain one minute then sent her reeling with laughter the next.

 

She told him his book, _13 Strangers,_ had arrived that evening and that she couldn’t wait to start reading it.

 

“Tell me what you think and don’t hold back,” he told her.  

 

Her eyebrow arched. “That’s a bold challenge.”

 

He smirked but merely shrugged. He wasn’t being cocky. He really wanted to know. His editor had told him he was a fantastic writer, and his agent had been just as generous with the compliments, but there had been no shortage of opinions, from the mostly good to the sometimes bad, and he found that he took no offense at the less-than-complimentary ones. He had, in fact, found their different perspectives illuminating.

 

He wanted to hear what she had to say about his book on 13 seemingly unrelated strangers unwittingly working together to make-happen a single, life changing event, and how one of those strangers, the protagonist of his book, had to figure out _what_ exactly was going to happen and where.

 

What would she pick apart? What would she like best? He just wanted to hear her thoughts through her voice. If he had nothing but her thoughts to listen to all day, he could die a happy man.

 

He inevitably ended up in her apartment again that night, having sex, and sleeping naked in each other’s arms.

 

*****************

 

As tempting as it was to spend another whole day with Betty, Archie’s and JB’s texts inquiring about the state of his well-being and health, however perfunctory, was basically code for “If you don’t answer soon, we will riot.”

 

It wasn’t that he was avoiding them, but at times like these when things were happening to him that tended to lean out of the ordinary, he had a different process. Like any new story that popped up in his narrative, he needed to know where it was going before he went any further, and while he didn’t need to see Betty in his head waving to him from the front porch of their future home with 2.5 of their kids, he wanted to be clear about where he saw this going in the next few months.

 

He had no doubts about wanting to be with Betty. He knew that from the moment he stepped into the closet with her. What he needed to be clear about was how he was going to explain it all to Archie and his sister.

 

He was probably overthinking it, but he was a writer. He needed the right words and phrases to explain, probably in a logical way, something that so often transcended logic.

 

“I need to go back to my apartment,” he told Betty lazily over breakfast. “Archie basically hasn’t seen me since the other night and it might just click with Jellybean that the only thing that ever stood between her and trouble was me. My being gone this long may give her ideas.”

 

Kevin did not come home last night, so it was just him and Betty at the table. Jughead didn’t have his shirt on because Betty was wearing it, and he drank in the sight of her in his clothes, her bed hair a sexy mess on her head, and her legs in full display, close enough for him to run his hands along her thigh as he shoved breakfast into his face.

 

He grinned when her foot began to creep up above his knee. “That’s going to work for about as long as I have my wicked way with you, then I’d still have to go.”

 

She was smiling that funny smile of hers with the corners turned down. She did it whenever she was incredibly amused about not getting her way.  “Fine, but I’m keeping your beanie hostage.”

 

“Oh, yes, because that’s all I’ll come back here for, really.”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him, which Jughead thought hilarious.

 

After breakfast, he got ready to go home, and after Betty’s second attempt to attack him, he basically needed to negotiate.

 

“I really need to go,” he said.

 

“An _hour,”_ she cooed, hooking her hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Stay an hour.”  

 

“If I stay an hour, I’ll never leave,” he drawled, grinning. “I can probably do twenty minutes…”

 

“Thirty and I’ll give you a blow job.”

 

When he paused to think about it, she hit his shoulder. _“Don’t_ be an idiot.”

 

“Ow. Okay. Deal.”

 

********************

 

When Jughead finally got back to his apartment, his mind still boggled at what Betty could do with that _tongue_ , Archie and Jellybean were battling furiously over Guitar Hero, advanced level, with their respective guitar remotes.

 

“Oh, hey! The Prodigal Son returns!” Archie cried without taking his eyes off the TV screen. “There were rumors of your shadow crossing our threshold for a bit in the last couple of days, but I wasn’t ready to believe it.”

 

“You need to work on those abandonment issues, Arch,” Jughead responded, pouring himself some coffee from a pot. “It’s not sexy.”

 

“How’d your thirty seven hours with Betty go, big bro?” Jellybean asked, never losing a step with her videogame.

 

“You counted. Nice to know I’ve raised you to be a strong, independent woman, Jellybean.”

 

“We just missed you, man. We’re not used to you having much of a social life, let alone having you disappear on us for more than 24 hours with a girl.”

 

Jughead had to admit he wasn’t wrong. “Well, I’m here. If that’s all, I’m going inside to study.” He proceeded to leave the kitchen counter.

 

“Now, hold on,” Archie said, ending the game.

 

“Hey!” Jellybean cried. “I was--like, beating you by 5000 points!”

 

“JB, debriefing Jug about his lovelife is more important, now get with the program before we lose him again.”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes and pulled up one of the kitchen chairs, settling on it with his coffee. “Okay, hit me with it.”

 

“Will we definitely be seeing more of Betty?” Archie asked.

 

Jughead nodded. “Yes. Definitely.”

 

Jellybean clapped her hands and Jughead cocked a grin in her direction, pleased by his sister’s unequivocal approval.

 

“Cool!” Archie punctuated this with his fist banging the couch. “Can I still admire her legs?”

 

“What the fuck, man?”

 

“Let me rephrase. Can I admire her legs if I do it respectfully?”

 

Jellybean hit Archie’s head with a throw pillow.

 

Jughead glared at him. “Next question.”

 

“Is she really besties with Veronica and Cheryl?” Archie asked. “And what would you say my chances are with those two?”

 

“Betty’s besties with Veronica, and I’d say your chances with lesbians is zero to negative 100.”

 

“So there’s a chance.”

 

“No.”

 

“On a scale of 1 to 10, one being ‘just friends’ and ten being ‘full-blown in love’, where are you on the scale?” Jellybean asked.

 

Jughead shot her a look. “How is that question even relevant to you?”

 

Jellybean shrugged. “I just want to know how much of my feelings I should invest in her, that’s all.”

 

Jughead wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be worrying about things like that, but he knew how it was to want something and then lose it. He knew that pain and disappointment. He felt confident enough that Betty wouldn’t be careless with him, but however much of a sweetheart Betty was, he couldn’t tell Jellybean that Betty would think _he_ was it, even if he thought that about _her._

 

He sighed and looked Jellybean in the eyes. “I want what I have with Betty to last, but there’s two of us in this relationship and I can’t promise she feels exactly the same way. It certainly feels like she wants the same, but I’m not psychic. I can’t tell you how to feel about her. You’re just going to have to figure that out yourself, JB.”

 

Jellybean looked thoughtful at that.

 

“So, does she live with Veronica, then?” Archie asked.

 

“She lives with Kevin.”

 

“You okay with that?”

 

“You know Kevin’s gay, right?”

 

“Yeah, but--”

 

 _“Arch,”_ Jughead interrupted in a mildly scolding tone. “Gay people don’t turn straight no matter how gorgeous the girl is. That’s how I know that if you try to make a move on Veronica, Cheryl will gut you alive before she invites you to a threesome. And Kevin’s Betty’s _best friend in the whole world.”_

 

“Fine,” Archie muttered. “You think we’ll have to hang out with her friends?”

 

“I’ll probably have to hang out with her friends, but _you_ don’t have to. Arch, are you afraid what the football team would say if they see you hanging out with a bunch of LGBTQ folks?”

 

Archie scoffed. “Give me some credit, dude. I’m not worried about what my teammates would say.  I’m a fucking music major who plays football, for God’s sake. I’ve heard it all and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck about what they think about me hanging out with Betty’s friends. It’s not that. I’m just curious if her friends and us can actually enjoy each other’s company.”

 

“We’ll worry about that if we have to, but not right now,” Jughead said.  “I’m optimistic that you’ll like each other’s company.”

 

“Can I tell Trev and Reggie that they have no hope of getting with Betty?”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Are you trying to get me in trouble, Archie? If Betty finds out that you’re telling your teammates that because I said you could, _she will leave my sorry ass.”_

 

“So…”

 

“Go ask her that yourself.”

 

Archie scowled. “You gotta watch out for your girl, man!”

 

“My _girl_ is pretty good at handling herself, so long as they keep it classy. Now, if any of those motherfuckers do anything untoward, I will personally end them.”

 

Archie nodded, the corners of his lips turned down in an approving mug. “Right on, brother.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“What makes her special?”

 

He didn’t expect Jellybean to ask a question like that, and it made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable--the mere thought of answering that question, but he always had an honest relationship with both Archie and Jellybean. He had no reason not to answer that question.

 

Jughead took a deep breath. “I don’t even know where to begin. She’s smart and fearless. It’s that journalist grit she has, but she’s also kind, and she cares about people that she doesn’t have to care about. She’s told me things about herself that she keeps close to her chest and she makes me feel like I’m everything. She’s cool as fuck, funny as hell, she loves her siblings, she’s sweet, she’s selfless, and she’s so open minded that I never have to be afraid about telling her everything. And she’s gorgeous and sexy and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

 

It wasn’t enough. The words didn’t feel enough, especially since he couldn’t tell them _everything_ about her. His words were the proverbial tip of the iceberg, 10% of what Betty Cooper was, the rest of her hidden beneath the surface.

 

Betty had shown him a side of her that only Kevin had ever seen, and if their wordless exchange was anything to go by, there were things about the races that was going to be between them and no one else.

 

“Do you always want to be with her?” Jellybean asked, dreamily.

 

He looked at the coffee mug in his hand, feeling bashful all of a sudden, but the warmth in his chest made admitting it pretty easy.  “Yeah.”

 

“Aw, Jug! I’m so happy for you.”

 

“Thanks, JB.”

.

“So, the sex,” Archie interjected, proving once again that he was singular in his pursuits. “Good?”

 

Jughead gave Archie a tight lipped smile. If anyone else had asked, he would have said absolutely nothing, but this was Archie. They grew up with each other. They were practically brothers.

 

“Sex is _fucking mindblowing.”_

 

“My man.” Archie put up his fist and Jughead bumped it.

 

Jellybean shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

 

*****************

 

For the next week or so Betty and Jughead were inseparable, only going off on their own for school and work. They met for lunch, studying, hangouts, and dinner dates.

 

Jughead discovered that Betty fueled the inspiration that would be his next novel, his fingers tapping away at his laptop for hours, prompted by her feedback or by her mere presence. She’d take breaks between studying, grabbing coffee for both of them--his black, hers with a bit of cream and sugar--or read his work over his shoulder for a bit without disrupting his flow. He found that she was an apt editor--part of her journalism background--and that he used too many semicolons (it was something his editor at the publishing house had told him many times but refused to heed, but Betty’s opinion had finally gotten him to reconsider).

 

She had read his book and loved it, her copy annotated throughout the pages with exclamations of approval and a few suggestions for edits, which made him laugh and kiss her with pure affection.

 

So long as they were in a public place, like a study hall, a library, or out in the grassy courtyard, they were productive.

 

When once they tried to study in the privacy of Jughead’s apartment, it took them about ten minutes before they gave up the struggle and started making out on the couch, mouths upon tongues, her hand tearing off his beanie and his fingers gliding down her body. They finish what they started in his bedroom, bodies rocking, pushing, and pulling against one another in a desperate need for intense release.

 

When they finally collapsed on the bed, sated and panting for breath, they came to the practical conclusion that if they wanted to graduate, they needed to study either separately, or together in a public setting.

 

*********************

 

Sometimes their friends hung out with them, and Jughead liked those times, too, because everyone brought something different out of them both, and that difference was good.

 

Archie’s liveliness brought out Jughead’s intensely sarcastic wit, blending Archie’s goofy humor with Jughead’s straight man schtick. Veronica’s unfiltered but hilarious vulgarity was the perfect foil to Kevin’s gossipy insinuations, so Betty playing referee was both endearing and funny to behold.

 

As reluctant as he was to admit it at first, Jughead grew to enjoy the company of Betty’s best friends especially when, come high school dance time, they were somehow there for Jellybean.

 

*************************

 

Jellybean loved Betty, to begin with.

 

Aside from Jellybean being young and impressionable, Betty was just naturally warm and accepting of younger kids. That Jellybean knew Jughead’s feelings for Betty ran unfathomably deep probably helped that along, but JB looked at Betty with stars in her eyes and perhaps some deep longing to have a big sister in a world where she’d been living under the the watchful eye of two big brothers, one of which thinks of her as a 7 year old, while also managing to believe that boys actually thought she was a 17 year old girl (how dare they).

 

That big sisterly affection came in handy when Jellybean came to him for advice on what she should wear for a dance that was happening that weekend.

 

When Jughead’s only response was to basically give her money with the question, “Who the hell’s taking you?” Betty had rolled her eyes, took Jellybean by the arm and said, “Alright, big brother, that’s enough. You’re coming with me, JB. Jughead, we’ll be back by dinner.”

 

Betty took Jellybean out shopping with Veronica and Kevin in tow, getting her a dress for the dance and a pair of shoes to match. Jughead at least had the presence of mind to give Jellybean a reasonable budget, but with Veronica there, accessories, hair, and makeup were essential, so resources had to be pooled.

 

On the night of the dance, Betty, Veronica, _and_ Kevin showed up at Jughead’s apartment laden with accessories, makeup, and _equipment_.

 

“Hi, Juggie!” Betty greeted cheerfully, planting a kiss on his surprised face as she lugged in Veronica’s huge case of beauty products.

 

Veronica and Kevin marched in after her carrying their own luggage, and Jellybean rushed out of her room excitedly to welcome them.

 

“Oh my God, guys! You’re the best! Right in here!”

 

Jughead was about to protest Kevin being with them when Kevin pressed a finger to Jughead’s lips. Jughead could only stare cross-eyed at that finger in shock as Archie laughed hysterically in the background.

 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, tall, dark, and broody, but one: I have no interest in your sister, and two: I won’t look unless she’s fully clothed, so hush you. Also, I saw Betty’s boobs before any ya’ll.”

 

“How was that last part necessary, Kevin?” Betty cried from Jellybean’s room.

 

“It wasn’t. I just love rubbing that fact in the faces of het-cis boys.” He pranced off and shut Jughead out before he could say anything else.

 

“Like her boobs, _boobs?”_ Archie yelled after them.

 

Jughead shot Archie a glare. _“Easy.”_

 

“I was just asking! And when you think about it, who you should be really worrying about is Ronnie. She likes girls, so maybe you should be watching out for her for both your sister and Betty.”

 

Jughead frowned. “This dude-bro thing you’re doing is going to get you killed one day.”

 

Veronica popped her head out of the room and said, “Fuck you, Arch.” Then shut the door back up.

 

“I am what I am,” said Archie dramatically.

 

“You’re also a Sensitive White Dude With a Guitar. Go with that instead,” Jughead drawled as he plopped on the couch and waited for this whole dance frenzy to blow over.

 

An hour and a half later, the doorbell rang. Jughead was about to get the door when Kevin came rushing out and assessing them briefly. He seemed to be deciding on something.

 

“What?” Jughead scowled.

 

Kevin looked at Archie, who was grinning. Kevin didn’t seem please by it and he turned back to Jughead. “You open the door and I’ll stand behind you. Archie, you stay where you are.”

 

“What the hell--”

 

“Do you wanna put the fear of God in Jellybean’s date or not?”

 

“Fine,” Jughead muttered. He went to the door and swung it open.

 

Gabe stood there, of course, looking dapper in his suit and converse sneakers.

 

Jughead eyed him for a few seconds. “Gabe.”

 

Gabe fidgeted under Jughead's unfriendly gaze. “H-Hi, Jughead.”

 

“You here to pick up JB?”

 

“Um, yeah?”

 

Another few seconds passed before Jughead stepped aside and let him into the apartment. When Jughead slammed the door behind him, Gabe jumped.

 

But Gabe barely had time to gather himself before Jughead was speaking to him again. “This is Kevin, a friend of ours and this is Archie, Jellybean’s _other_ big brother. He’s captain of Columbia’s football team.”

 

Archie was still smiling, but Jughead was pleased to note that there was tension in that grin.

 

“Oh, yeah, Jellybean talks about you all the time, too. Nice to meet you!”

 

Archie says nothing for a second, then, “What time you bringing her home, Gary?”

 

“Um, it’s Gabe--”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Archie was still smiling, but that toothy grin was beginning to look sinister.

 

“Eleve--”

 

“Ten thirty,” Archie answered for him. “Perfect.”

 

Jughead smirked.

 

Kevin approached Gabe, getting into the kid’s personal space, which took him aback, but Kevin did not back down, looking him over from head to toe.  “Tuck in your shirt, straighten that tie, and--turn around for heaven’s sake!”

 

Gabe frantically did everything he was instructed to do.

 

Kevin proceeded to tidy him up, straightening his coat, and delinting his suit with a roller that came out of nowhere. He stepped back, gave Gabe one last look, then nodded. “You’ll do. Wait here.”

 

Kevin stalked away and entered Jellybean’s room.

 

Moments later, Kevin, followed by Betty and Veronica spilled out with their phones held up.

 

“This is so exciting!” Betty whispered, bumping Jughead’s arm with her shoulder.

 

“This isn’t her prom,” Jughead muttered aside.

 

“Oh, hush, this is her first dance date of the year!”

 

Jughead racked his brain and realized that what Betty said was true.

 

When Jellybean stepped out, Jughead could hardly believe it. It was Jellybean, but grown up. Her dress was black, of course, but the close fitting sleeveless top had feminine detailing on it. A studded leather belt was cinched at her waist--possibly Betty’s--and her skirt was short at the front but long at the back. She wore platform boots up to her ankles with knitted purple socks peeking out of the top. Her hair was in a styled up-do and her makeup, for lack of a better word, rocked.

 

Jughead felt his eyes stinging suspiciously and he had to blink furiously to keep his dignity intact.

 

“You look fantastic, JB,” Gabe said, bashfully.

 

Jellybean quirked a shoulder coyly. “You too, Gabe.”

 

Betty covered her mouth, barely suppressing her glee.

 

“Oh, my God, you guys!” Veronica gushed. “We need a picture!”

 

Gabe gave Veronica his phone and Kevin directed them on how to stand, shooing Archie away from the window where there was possibly something that could pass as a view of the skyline.

 

The first few snaps were just Jellybean and Gabe standing chummily together, but then Jellybean did a fun and goofy pose, which Gabe gamely followed with his own.

 

“Love it!” Betty said, giggling.

 

As the final pictures were taken, Jellybean and Gabe began to head out the door.

 

Jughead grabbed Jellybean’s coat from the rack and put it over her shoulders. “10:30, okay? 11, max, but text me if you’re coming then. I don’t want to guess. Be careful, and you know you can always call me for _anything._ I swear, if you find yourself in trouble, call me. I won’t be mad--”

 

“Jug!” Jellybean hissed.

 

“What?”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Jughead took a mildly embarrassed breath. “Go. Have fun. Stay safe, you little monster. Gabe?”

 

“I’ll take care of her.”

 

“I know where you live.”

 

“Jug!” Jellybean and Betty cried together.

 

“Let’s just go, Gabe!” Jellybean said, sighing. She dragged him to the elevators and only after they disappeared through the elevators did Jughead close the door.

 

*************************

 

It was all very normal. Very idyllic--just a couple of college kids dating and enjoying each other’s company, getting along with each other’s friends.

 

Alone, they were hungry for one another, their bodies like a consistent chemical reaction each time they were combined. He almost felt addicted to it and he could barely manage another thought when his mind got to thinking of her.

 

He could never forget that moment, during a particularly boring Anthropology class, when he realized how whipped he was.

 

As he stared miserably at an anthropological timeline, projected blandly on the screen with the room darkened and the monotone of the professor’s lesson lulling everyone in class into a silent scream, Jughead, desperate for stimulation, texted Betty:

 

**_So what are you wearing?_ **

 

It was kind of a joke. It was the middle of the day and she was probably in class.  He didn’t think she would take it seriously.

 

Not two seconds later, she texted back a photo of her in an exquisite little teddy.

 

It wasn’t lace or silk or anything like that. It was comfortable cotton, but the top was strappy and her bottom was short. Like, really short. And she had angled her photo so that he could see her gorgeous cleavage and her spectacular legs. Her hair was bed messed, she wore the slightest bit of makeup, and she was winking.

 

That was _it._

 

He was awake and he needed to get out of that classroom. His split second calculations of the distance between his seat and the door told him that he would never get out of that class unnoticed, but it was clear to him that he wasn’t going to let that minor inconvenience get in between him and Betty.

 

He could barely remember what he mumbled as he shuffled his way down the aisle. He must have rattled off so many apologies to the cadence of the professor’s droning voice, and before he knew it, he was at the door and he took off like a dog in heat.

 

He had never driven his motorcycle so fast.

 

When he reached Betty’s apartment and climbed the seven goddamn flights of stairs, he flew to her door and rang the doorbell. He had barely caught his breath when Betty threw open her door, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and started kissing him even before he had stepped over the threshold.

 

The hasty scramble to close the door and make it to her bedroom somehow half-clothed were haphazard at best. He wasn’t sure they’d have cared if Kevin had been in the apartment (he wasn’t).  He’d have probably gotten an eyeful, but screw that. _This_ was all that was important.

 

It was a flurry of desire. He didn’t recall how his clothes came off, but he recalled every second of undressing Betty, because he had marked every second of it with his lips on her body.

 

For the first time in their sexual history, they skipped their more regularly drawn out foreplay. Their need this time was immediate. This was an all-out fuck. As soon as they were both naked, he hitched Betty against him and nailed her unceremoniously against the wall.

 

It was the most amazing feeling in the world.

 

He didn’t know how long they kept at it. All he knew was that they were vigorous, sweaty, and loving it. When he heard her gasping, and felt her coming, he was pretty much ready to go with her.

 

It was impossible to quiet their moans of climax, but he tried to muffle the sound with a very deep kiss.

 

But however extraordinary the sex felt, it was still, arguably, a regular relationship. It was a far better relationship that either of them could have imagined, but it could be considered within the realm of normal.

 

Except it wasn’t.

 

Because when after a long day at school, work, and domestic responsibilities, Jughead would get that text from Betty, and all his exhaustion would be burned away by a surge of adrenaline.  

 

**_Going down the rabbit hole. Care to fall with me?_ **

 

Of course he would.

 

Down the rabbit hole, he would fall with her. Hell, he would fall for her. He was down for it. He was down for _her._

 

Eventually he would have that discussion with her, where he would sit her down and ask her if this was really helping her cope. In due time, they would have to talk about about the real dangers of this habit she had. But right now this was hers and debatably _theirs._   

 

For now, he could keep her safe and make her happy. For _now_ , they were living their best lives and this was their thing and he wanted it.

 

He was mad for it.

 

After all, when Alice asked if she’d gone mad herself, the Hatter’s reply was “The best people usually are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going about my merry way when someone pointed out to me that the dick hat became kind of a [real thing on Twitter](https://twitter.com/lilireinhart/status/934928331178463237).
> 
> Yeah, I kind of spit out my coffee when I saw it, too (this is not going on my Drive inspiration board).


	10. In Too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which trouble finds _them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. My job overtook my life this last week. 
> 
> This is going to be a long one. And, fair warning, a really, really sexy one.

 

I see this life, like a swinging vine

Swing my heart across the line

And in my face is flashing signs

Seek it out and ye' shall find

Old, but I'm not that old

Young, but I'm not that bold

And I don't think the world is sold

On just doing what we're told

I feel something so right

Doing the wrong thing

I feel something so wrong

Doing the right thing

I couldn't lie, couldn't lie, couldn't lie

Everything that kills me makes me feel alive

\--Counting Stars, by OneRepublic

 

Jughead was no stranger to Newark drag races. He’d watched the fastest and flashiest cars speed down Doremus avenue, the farthest eastern point of the Ironbound, as he sat atop stationary train cars along the road with his Southside Serpent crew.

 

Often, he and the other Serpents came to these things in cars, opting to leave their motorcycles home.  It was a practical, precautionary measure.  A souped up car was faster than the Harleys they drove, and if the cops came, they needed to get away very quickly, and if possible, inconspicuously.  Motorcycles, especially theirs, were very conspicuous.

 

While Jughead and his crew never raced, the drag races had always been entertaining to watch. Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni liked it for the women. He enjoyed it for the cars.

 

Now he was sitting in a race car with Betty at the driver’s seat, poised at the starting line.  

 

This was the first time in a year that the races were being held in this strip again.  A year ago, the police had cracked down hard on drag racing in Newark, successfully apprehending several street racers who had been involved in the death of a cop. The cops hadn’t been back since, and Hans had managed to score the area for tonight.

 

This time, Betty was up against a couple of guys who called themselves John and Paul.

 

“Like the Bible?” she had asked, after they had sauntered up to her and so cooly introduced themselves.

 

Clearly, the missed reference had annoyed them.

 

“No,” John said irritably. “Like the Beatles.”

 

“Well, you should’ve just called yourselves John and Ringo if you don’t want people to get confused,” Betty had told them, haughtily.

 

“Nobody wants to be Ringo!” Paul cried, offended.

 

“Why not? He wrote Octopus Garden.”

 

“He did not, that was Harrison!” John’s tone was all sorts of aggravated, and Jughead had been spending all of the last few minutes biting his lip to keep from laughing.  

 

Betty was successfully getting under their skins.  

 

“And why would you even reference Octopus Garden?” John went on. “If you wanted to point out a Ringo Starr song, go with Don’t Pass Me By and Yellow Submarine!”

 

“So prolific, that Ringo Starr,” she said, easily. “So--you’re John and Ringo from now on?”

 

“What? No!”

 

“Is this your car?” she asked, pointing to the flaming red Honda, sleek and low to the ground. “Let me guess--you call her Abbey, as in Abbey Road.”

 

When John and Paul didn’t say anything, Jughead couldn’t help himself any longer. He laughed, and he actually thumped Paul’s shoulder with his hand, just strong enough to make it count.

 

“You guys are toast,” he told them, grinning. “See you on the track!”

 

As they waited in the starting lineup, Betty glanced over and flashed them a friendly smile.

 

They did not smile back.

 

“So I think John and Ringo are on to you,” Jughead said, grinning.

 

She shrugged, giggling softly. “They’re not so bad. Honestly, their ride’s pretty slick. I saw what was under that hood, earlier. They _could_ beat me.”

 

Jughead scoffed. “On a different track, maybe. I asked Hans about the speed bumps you mentioned. They’re definitely there.”

 

Betty grimaced, thoughtful. “I heard about the cops installing it after last year’s crackdown but I wasn’t sure if it was true.  I didn’t see it on Google street view so I thought the rumors were bogus. I guess they haven’t updated the Google images yet.”

 

He nodded. “They’re there. I wouldn’t advice flooring it. If you do that, you’ll break your car’s suspension system.”

 

“Do you know the intervals?”

 

Jughead see-sawed his hand in a gesture of mild uncertainty. “Hans said they’re spaced about 500 feet apart along this road, give or take. Five bumps. I don’t know where the first bump starts so you’ll have to play it by ear for that first one. I say play it safe until you find that out. The final stretch doesn’t have any speed bumps. I guess they ran out of city funding.”

 

She was looking at him like dessert now. It was a look he could get used to.

 

“What?” he asked, mildly.

 

She leaned over and kissed him, her tongue flicking into his mouth. His tongue stroked back, his fingers digging into her hair to keep her from ending the kiss too soon. Betty kissing him at the start of a race, the rumble of her engine vibrating beneath them, was the stuff of fantasies.  

 

When she finally pulled away, their breaths hitching in restrained desire, he gave her a lazy smirk.

 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” he asked.

 

“You are an amazing navigator,” she whispered. “Do you think Paul and Ringo did their homework as well as you did?”

 

He chuckled. “They don’t seem like the homework type, but I guess they could have. They’re experienced racers.” He glanced at them and caught them watching like a couple of creepers.

 

Jughead cocked a grin and gave them a wink, which made them look away, flustered.

 

When the flagger finally came into view and started the race, Betty did _not_ floor it.  

 

John and Paul, however, did.  They sped way ahead, with Betty following at a fast, but tempered pace.  

 

“That’s it, baby,” Jughead said. “Let’s see what they have planned.”

 

With John and Paul far ahead, Jughead was feeling a _little_ insecure about his coaching, but 100 feet ahead, the Honda stopped hard, jumped, and landed on the other side with a dull crunch.  Sparks flew from the Honda’s undercarriage as the car settled.

 

It looked like a calculated move, but it didn’t earn them much. They were still ahead, but Betty was closing in smooth and fast.

 

Betty giggled. “Rough landing.”

 

The Honda may have made it over the hump, but John and Paul were clearly rattled. If they wanted to do that again quickly, they may have to pony up for some body work after the race.

 

Betty shifted. Not only was she expecting the bump, her car was higher off the ground, and she sailed over the bump with a lot more grace and a lot more speed.  

 

“Another 500 hundred feet!” Jughead said.

 

“I got this,” she said, going faster, but knowing the intervals now, she had greater control. She sped up, then she would lift her foot off the gas as she pressed on the break, shifted, then drove over the hurdles, speeding up again. She achieved a perfect rhythm that got her ahead of John and Paul who were determined to go with their jump and land strategy.  

 

To their credit, they weren’t lagging far. They were still close enough that Jughead could flash them a grin. John, the driver, gave him the finger. Jughead couldn’t help but laugh.

 

The Honda could still beat Betty at the final stretch. The light Japanese cars, even with NOS, could always afford more engine upgrades without weighing down their rides, but Betty knew how to handle the Hondas and Mitsubishis of the world. She built her Camaro, bolt by bolt, with her own hands. She knew what it could do and what its secrets were.

 

Jughead had to stop looking at her drive, because watching her was making him unbelievably hard.

 

At the last stretch, she picked up her speed, the distance between her Camaro and the Honda growing. As expected, the Honda gained ground quickly after that, no doubt applying the NOS, but Betty had a powerful engine and her discipline was her strength. She finally floored her gas pedal and she surged ahead as her opponent’s NOS ran out of fire.

 

She passed the finish line, convincingly ahead.

 

When she spun to a halt amidst the cheers of the crowd, Jughead could barely contain himself.

 

“God, you’re hot!” he gasped. It was all he could really say.

 

She was on his lap in a second and Jughead didn’t even care if an entire crowd of people could see them.  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, their mouths open, tongues tangling, and breaths mingling hot and heavy.

 

Distantly, Jughead could hear the Honda screeching to a halt, but his preoccupation right now was Betty’s ass grinding on his crotch.  

 

He didn’t know how long they were making out, but when they heard the distinct knock of a fist on the roof of the car, they finally tore away from each other and looked up.

 

“I hate to interrupt,” Hans said, chuckling. “But I gotta pay you two. Maybe I should give you extra for that side-show, because _damn,_ son. That shit ain’t free in most parts.”

 

Only mildly embarrassed, they got out of the car, got paid, and, in keeping with Betty’s MO, they left.

 

*********************

 

Betty said Kevin was out for the night with a hot new date, and the prospect of having her apartment all to themselves made Jughead dizzy with the possibilities.

 

When they arrived at her apartment building, she picked something up at the front desk before heading up the seven flights of stairs. As they walked up to her apartment door, he wrapped his arms around her waist and started kissing her neck.

 

She giggled, pushing him away gently. “So frisky.”

 

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he said, not letting go of her.

 

She smirked. “It’s only going to get better, Jones.” She keyed them into the quiet apartment, and as they stepped through the threshold, she flicked on the lights and shed her coat.

 

As he hung his own coat up, she went straight to the kitchen and set down the bag she grabbed from the front desk on the counter. It was only them he saw the J.G. Melon logo stamped on it.

 

Jughead blinked. “Are those burgers?”

 

She nodded, grinning as she opened the refrigerator and brought out a nicely decorated cake.

 

“Happy birthday,” Betty said, closing the refrigerator door behind her.

 

He was, frankly, surprised. His birthday wasn’t until tomorrow.

 

“It’s past midnight. It’s your birthday,” she said.

 

She was right.

 

“I promised you a cake, didn’t I?” she said, putting the cake down on the counter beside the burgers. “And I had the burgers delivered by the Uber food service. I love technology.”

 

He was still a little too surprised to say anything. He looked around the apartment suspiciously.

 

Betty laughed. “Nobody’s going to jump out of the shadows. I talked to Archie. He said you would hate that.  Tomorrow, you can spend your birthday with Archie and JB, just like always, but tonight, it’s just you and me.  What do you think?”

 

Jughead had to take a moment to absorb it. He hated celebrating his birthday, and yes, spending the last few years of it with Archie and JB had given him a sense of security that when his birthday came rolling around, there would be no keggers or a room full of people he didn't like.

 

Betty’s little surprise was kind of a glitch he didn’t know what to do with, but when he thought about it, it generally felt like it was just another day, except she made a cake, and she bought burgers from his favorite burger joint in town.

 

“I think…” he whispered, looking at her, “...that you’re amazing and that right now the only thing I want more than that cake and those burgers is you.”

 

She giggled. “Sheer poetry,” she whispered, grinning as she pulled herself closer. “Those burgers can probably wait, yes?”

 

“They can _totally_ wait,” he whispered, his lips rooting for hers.

 

“You’ll stay the night, won’t you? Please? I’d love to wake up and have you there.”

 

It always struck him how the simplest statement from her made him feel wanted in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d spent his whole life afraid, in every single relationship, that he was encroaching on other people’s lives, like he was always a bother. It was all those years spent having an unstable home life, when his mother was too high to make them dinner, or when mercifully, their grandparents would take Jellybean away for the summer but leave him to fend for himself, or when outrageously, his mother would throw him out of the house for yelling at her to sober up, right in the middle of winter, where he had to find warmth somewhere else, usually in Archie’s house, or the Drive In where he worked, or even the school janitor’s closet.

 

Sometimes he wondered whether his periodic repulsion to sex wasn’t a result of just putting all his energies into survival. Like, where would he find the energy to jerk off at images of gorgeous blonde women in his head if he had to worry about finding a warm place to sleep?

 

It was why the sums of money he earned jacking cars had been so addictive. No food in the refrigerator? No problem. He had money to buy a couple of weeks worth of groceries. Mom threw him out? No worries, he could afford to stay a couple of nights at the nearby motel with his badly forged fake ID.

 

So life had been hard, and in the past that meant he was an inconvenience to the people he depended on. It was something that had stayed with him through the years, even now when things were better.  

 

Now here he was, Betty in his arms, listening to her beg. As if she needed to.

 

“God, Betty,” he breathed, touching his nose to hers. “You never have to beg. If you ask me to open a jar of mayonnaise, I’d stay the night.”

 

She giggled, kissing him. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

 

“You know what I mean.”  He took the opportunity and held her tightly, sweeping his tongue into her mouth for a long, languorous kiss.

 

When they separated, he cupped her face in his hand and trailed his kisses down her throat. She gasped but responded to him by rubbing her thigh against his growing erection.

 

“That didn’t take much,” she breathed.

 

“I can’t help it,” he said in a low voice. “Seeing you drive like that and then you asking me to stay _...”_ His other hand slid to her ass, pulling her skirt up so his hand can get under it for skin, and he pulled her body to him as he pressed against her.

 

She groaned, tip toeing for more pressure.

 

“God, I love it when you’re in your little skirts,” he murmured, biting her ear.

 

She smiled, closing her eyes when his fingers sought her center. “I know. I _so know.”_

 

It drove him crazy whenever she tells him that she _did_ things deliberately to turn him on.

 

The press of her body caused him to walk backwards until he was at her bedroom door, which yawned open behind him. She pushed him gently into her room, but soon he was stumbling back on her bed and when he tried to get back up, she pushed him back down, grinning.

 

He cocked a self-satisfied smile as he kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his flannel. He was just about to remove his pants when she lifted his face by his chin and looked him straight in the eyes.

 

“Watch,” she whispered, stepping back.

 

First she undid the clasp on her hair, shaking down her blonde tresses as they tumbled in large curls down her shoulders. Some of it rested over her breast and she grazed her fingers over the mound of her breast over her shirt.

 

His dick gave an insistent twitch.

 

_Patience._

 

Slowly, button by button, she undid her top, her gaze coy and flirty. He could see her red bra peeking from between the buttons of her blouse. His gaze was laser focused on every movement of her hand, anticipating the undoing of each and every button, revealing her body inch by inch.

 

When there were no more buttons to undo, she turned and slipped her blouse off one shoulder at a time, turning her head to give him a sultry wink. He swallowed, completely hypnotised by her strip tease.

 

The blouse fell to the floor, leaving her red bra, short skirt, and her red strappy heels. He wished to God she would remove her bra next. Her hands slid up her waist, smoothing over her ass, and just when he thought her hands would move higher, she stopped at the hem of her skirt where she slid down the zipper that held the skirt snug around her.

 

As the skirt loosened, she pushed it down, bending at the hips so he could look at her fantastic ass that was wrapped in these amazing lacy panties that were pretending to be shorts, but offered a generous view of her perky bum.  

 

She wiggled her ass, a giggle floating out of her lips. Her sexy underwear paired with her chunky high heeled shoes and the cascade of her golden hair was almost enough to get him off. He groaned, throwing his head back on the bed. Desperately, he heaved off his shirt and undid his belt. With the buckle undone, he popped the buttons of his jeans, relieving some of the pressure from his raging hardon.

 

“B-Betty, come here,” he begged, holding out his hand to her.

 

She shook her head, grinning. “I’m not done.”

 

“Baby, I _need you to come here.”_

 

She didn’t even reply. With a sultry look over her shoulder, she undid the clasp of her bra and slid the straps off one at a time. When the bra dropped to the floor, she still wasn’t turning around.

 

She raised her arms over her shoulder and lifted her hair off the back of her neck, giving a seductive sigh. “Is it hot here or what?”

 

He felt ravenous, and he rose halfway off the bed, wanting to scoop her into his arms and fuck her senseless.  

 

“Ah, ah,” she said, halting him completely. She had him so whipped right now that he would do absolutely anything she ordered him to. “I said _watch.”_

 

He fell back against her bed again, his body both frustrated and delighted by this build up.

 

When her hands began to slide towards her panties, her thumbs hooking under the lacy fabric, he was enthralled. He watched her slide one side down and then the other until her panties were pooled around her ankles and she stepped out of them daintily.

 

But for her shoes, she was completely naked, and when she turned, slowly, Jughead’s eyes swept over her gorgeous body, taking in the details of her shape. From the bouncy ringlets of her hair, to her wonderfully full breasts that fit perfectly in his palms. Her flat and delicately lined stomach tapered to the tuft of neatly groomed hair at the apex of her thighs.

 

He wanted so badly to touch. He wanted so badly to taste, because he loved the taste of her on his tongue and the sounds she made when he did it.

 

When she got to him, she propped her heeled foot on his knee and he had to watch her unbuckle her shoes, one at a time.  

 

“God, Betty, I’m dying,” he gasped, reaching out to smooth a hand on her ass.

 

She swatted his hand away and he laughed in frustration.

 

“I swear, when I get my hands on you…” he promised, darkly.

 

She smiled, probably at the knowledge that she was driving him completely insane. She lifted a hand and traced the tattoo over and behind his shoulder, then his chest, his muscles twitching reflexively at her light touch.

 

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered in a tone heavy with lust.

 

The corner of her lip lifted and she locked her gaze with his as her fingers fluttered to the tattoo that dipped halfway into the garter of his boxers. Her fingers hooked around the garter and she tugged.

 

He lifted his hips to help slide off his underwear and jeans.

 

When she took his erection into her mouth, her tongue rolling along his length, he could hardly keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. He groaned and his breathing immediately intensified.

 

His fingers dug into her hair as her clever mouth sucked him exactly how he wanted her to.

 

“Oh, fuck, Betty. That feels so goddamn good.”

 

Her hand  and mouth wrapped around him. She moved faster and he gasped as he felt the build up intensify.

 

“Baby, slow down,” he begged. “I don’t want to come like this.”

 

She pulled away, licking as she did. He almost lost it, and he desperately tried to picture something unsavory, like bad cliches and Archie’s dirty socks turning up in his laundry pile.

 

“Tell me what you want me to do, Juggie,” she said, her hands still moving over him.

 

“I want you to ride me, Betts.”

 

She bit her lower lip, smiling as she rose. She pulled a condom out of her side drawer and climbed over the edge of the bed, straddling his body. Deftly, she took the condom out of its packet and slid it expertly over his dick.

 

Properly sheathed, he grabbed her desperately by the hips and pulled her towards him, bucking his hips to enter her.

 

She gasped and sank against him. And feeling her warmth surround him ripped a groan from his throat. Her moan coaxed a flutter of desire from deep in his belly and he had to fight to stop himself from coming too soon.

 

“Holy fuck, Betts, you feel so incredible.”

 

She smiled as her hips began to roll against him, her hands pressed against his chest for balance. His fingers dug against her hips, trying to set a pace that would make him last a little longer.

 

“Juggie, you feel good inside me,” she whispered, her breath catching as she moved.

 

He could only groan in response.

 

He reached up to cup her face in his hands. She turned her face to place open mouth kisses against his palm. He tugged her face down towards him so he could kiss her and feel her tongue against his.

 

She didn’t stop moving, and as he kissed her hungrily, he sought her breast with his hand and squeezed her gently, his thumb grazing her nipple.

 

It elicited another moan from her. He bucked underneath her to meet her hips and she began to whine desperately. She fluttered around him and he knew she was close.

 

She sat back up, her movements atop him becoming more desperate. Her moans were right on top of each other and he needed her to come, or else he would come first.

 

She was crying his name and he thrust harder.

 

“I’m coming, Juggie!” she cried. She orgasmed, loudly, and he couldn’t handle watching her come without exploding inside her.

 

He tumbled into sweet oblivion right after her, pulling her flush against him, his hips lifting off the bed.

 

When it was over, she collapsed against him. He could feel both their hearts hammering through their chests. They were both bathed in sweat and catching their breaths.

 

“Oh, Juggie,” she breathed. “That was amazing.”

 

“Baby, _you’re_ amazing,” he groaned. “Goddamn, that was good.”

 

They took a few moments to recover, and when she did, she gave him a moment to deal with the post-coital cleanup. When he was done, she settled beside him on the bed, kissing him lazily before she draped herself comfortably against him.

 

“Happy birthday,” she said, softly.

 

His birthday wasn’t his favorite day of the year, but he liked _this_ birthday. He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes to savor her closeness.

 

“So we’re having cake later,” she said, looking up and smiling. “And then have the burgers, in case you’re hungry--”

 

“I always am.”

 

“I know you are. I threw in the strip tease for good measure. Hope you liked that little extra.” She winked.

 

“‘Liked’ it is the most egregious understatement of the year.”

 

“I got you a gift, but I’ll give it to you tomorrow morning,” she said. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

 

He shot her a chastising look. “Betts, I hope you’re joking.”

 

“I’m not,” she whined, softly. “I liked looking for something to give you. It felt--I don’t know, natural. I was shopping online and I kept seeing these shirts and flannels and I wanted to buy them all for you. You would look so good in them, but stuff like that isn’t for special occasions like your birthday. So no, I didn’t get you clothes. It’s something else, but I really, really enjoyed window shopping for you, Jug. It felt… _right.”_

 

Jughead didn’t think his heart can feel any fuller. He pulled the blankets aside so he could roll over on top of her.

 

He didn’t give her a chance to protest, clamping his mouth over hers and sliding his hand down her body so he could slip his fingers into the soft folds of her.

 

She whimpered and sighed into his kiss, instantly wet. He felt her fingers comb through his hair, her back arching from the bed.

 

“Juggie, you don’t even know what the gift is,” she moaned, her eyes closing as his fingers entered her and his thumb pressed gently on her clit.

 

He smirked, amused that she thought this was about that. “You’re my gift, baby,” he whispered back, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her arched neck.

 

He still needed a bit of time to recover from his first orgasm, so he wanted to take his time with her, but he was a twenty-two year old male in bed with a gorgeous and naked blonde chick who was as eager to please him as he was hungry for her. It wasn’t going to take long.

 

His lips made their way back to her mouth, his tongue sweeping hers. He nursed the kiss with gentle suction, and all the while his fingers slid in and out of her slowly. When her hips started to move against his hand and she began to moan into his kiss, he quickened the circling of his thumb around her clit.

 

She threw her head back, wailing in pleasure as she fluttered around his fingers, climaxing as he watched.

 

As she came down from the orgasm, she gasped for breath and stared at him with blatant desire.

 

“Those fingers are magic,” she told him and he couldn’t resist a smug smirk.  

 

“I know,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

 

She laughed and slapped his shoulder lightly. “I’ll allow it because it’s your birthday.” As her laughter died down, she slid her arms over his shoulders and bit her lower lip, casting him a sultry gaze. “Do you want to do me from behind? We’ve never done that before.”

 

He groaned and his dick instantly hardened. “Betts I want to see your face. I want to watch you when you come undone.”

 

She smiled. “You’d still be able to see my face, I promise. We’ll do it a little differently.”

 

He was well aware that she was doing all this—being a total seductress because it was his birthday, and for a moment, he was resistant to the idea of her giving up her pleasure for him for any reason.  “Betty--”

 

“Sshhh, I’ll be your little slut for tonight.”

 

He would probably never admit how much her words were turning him on right now. He wanted to deny it, even. “D-Don’t call yourself--”

 

She hushed him again as she rose from the bed and pulled him up with her. Crawling in front of him on all fours and poised to let him do with her as he pleased, she placed his hands firmly on her hips.

 

“It’s alright, baby, I’m ready,” she whispered.

 

His mind was too far gone in this sexual haze to think about the politics of any of it. He thrust himself into her and it felt amazing. They moved against one another for a bit and he must have closed his eyes at some point, groaning and just enjoying the feel of it. The optics of this position was purely for him, he knew, but he did want to see her face and he couldn’t, so he tried to imagine it instead.

 

But he felt her shifting, her body rising to press her back flush against his chest. Her arms snaked around his neck, her own neck arching so they could kiss. They were now both on their knees and he could see her face and the position felt incredible.

 

“Good?” she gasped, meeting his thrusts.

 

“Oh my fucking God, _amazing_ ,” he moaned, capturing her mouth with his.  His hand slid to the front of her, touching and pressing her clit as his hips met her from behind.

 

A sob rose out of her, almost sounding surprised. “J-Juggie, that feel so goddamn good.”

 

Encouraged and totally gone of inhibition, he thrust harder and moved his hand more vigorously.

 

She cried louder, shouting obscenities that flamed his desire _._

 

Hearing Betty curse during sex _always_ drove him crazy. He desperately needed her to come because he wasn’t going to last that much longer.  

 

When she cried out his name, they came together, and he watched her come undone as he tumbled right after her.  

 

********************

 

The cake was delicious. It was chocolate, with layers of caramel in between and a creamy, buttercream icing so light that Jughead had been tempted to slather some on her skin so he could lick it off her.  Were it not for the J.G. Melon burgers (and probably the fact that he’d already gotten off twice), which were arguably his favorite burgers in town, he might have just gone for it, especially since she seemed so pleased by how well everything was turning out.

 

And he had to admit, celebrating his birthday this way was a mega-huge improvement from watching a double feature with Archie and Jellybean, though truly, he would never tell them that.  Like Betty said, he should still be spending time with his best friend and sister on his birthday.

 

After they put away the leftover cake, they went back to bed.

 

As she lay in his arms, half draped on him under the sheets, he slid his hands over her back in a gentle massage. He hadn’t had much in the way of life and love in his formative years. He could reasonably say that the last three years of his life had been idyllic, between publishing a book and going to an ivy league university, all while raising Jellybean in the kind of place he always wanted her to grow up in, he could say that this was what he always wanted. But given his proclivity to eschew relationships beyond Jellybean and Archie, he had _never_ imagined being with a woman, romantically. It just wasn’t in his plans.

 

He wasn’t like Archie, or Reggie, or even Kevin and Veronica. He hadn’t needed a partner. He didn’t need someone with him to enjoy his movies, or books, or burgers. He could’ve been alone the rest of his life while everyone paired off and it wouldn’t have bothered him one bit.   

 

But when he met Betty, it was like the universe shifted under his feet and all the preconceived notions he had about living were shattered by the reality that he was reworking his plans. All of them. Surreptitiously, Betty was making her way into his thoughts about the future.  Short term plans, for now, but she was there, a presence in his ideas and musings. He had found himself wondering whether her siblings would like him; he was happy that Jellybean and Archie adored her; he was glad he made the effort to get along with her friends; and God, if he had to put up with Cheryl to be around her, that’s what he would do. He couldn’t deny how he wanted Betty to keep being in his thoughts and in his life.

 

He had heard the songs and read the books of bards old and new, and he had laughed at the language of love these writers conjured. Sappy, sorry sods who made impossible promises and flowery declarations, but _now_ he got it.

 

The inadequacy of mundane, logical words became all too real of a struggle. He got it now. He understood that when they said they would move mountains for someone, they obviously couldn’t, but goddammit, they will _try their fucking best_ because the feelings were so big, and powerful, and how _could it not_ move that mountain?

 

He would do absolutely anything for Betty. She is and always will be the only person who can make him do things he never thought of doing before. She is the only reason he will let himself talk and listen to Cheryl Blossom and probably her douchebag twin brother. She is the only reason he didn’t run, screaming, when he found out her brother was in the FBI. She is definitely the reason why he would keep showing up at these illegal races, because those neanderthals ogled and harassed her, and fuck him if he would let them do that to her. She is the only reason he is risking arrest, after all these years of outsmarting the cops, by associating with illegal activity--surrounded by cars, no less.

 

He just wanted to be with her, and protect her, and fuck yeah, he wanted to pleasure her each and every time they had sex, because she was glorious when she orgasmed.

 

She fell asleep before he did, his thoughts keeping him awake for a bit.  He did, eventually, fall asleep, and the next morning, Betty woke him up with a blow job that he was unable to resist. He was too groggy and it felt too good to tell her to stop. She licked and sucked until he came, which probably took no time at all, and there was nothing much he could do about it after except grumble and promise that he would get her back for it.  

 

She grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on, knowing he would love it. She looked so smug as she settled herself on his stomach that he almost wanted to turn her over and wipe it off her face with his head between her legs.

 

Instead, he eyed her suspiciously. “What are you doing, Elizabeth?”

 

She grinned and reached for something under her bed. She pulled out a wrapped box with a ribbon on it and plopped it on his chest. “Open it!”

 

It was a carefully wrapped gift, somewhat heavy, but that could’ve just been him being boneless and hazy from the blow job. But even through his sexual fog, he felt the underpinnings of a trigger.

 

“Jeez, Betts, you shouldn’t have,” he said, feeling mild distress. Receiving gifts almost always brought him anxiety first. His childhood had been wrought with disappointment, compounded by the upwelling of happiness that always seemed to come before the fall--boxes with nothing in them, wrapped household clutter, and re-gifted junk; gifts had been a sore point for most of his life. And it wasn’t at all _what_ he got that was the problem, it had been _why._ He was never a stupid kid. That was the problem. He knew that the reason he got last year’s Singing Trout was because his mom had blown money on the heroin she bought. He was well aware that the reason his dad had wrapped a jar of peanut butter and jelly was because he had, first, forgotten, and next, he had been out with his gang the last thirty six hours and his only opportunity to shop had been at the nearest 7-11, when he was doing a beer run. The best gift he’d ever gotten from his father was an empty, barely used notebook. _That_ had been a good year. Granted, being in the company of Archie and Jellybean has improved the situation considerably, but it was hard to let go of the honed instinct to brace himself.

 

“I promise, it doesn’t bite,” she said, quietly, probably sensing his uneasiness. “You might like it.”

 

He smiled ruefully, touching her face. “I’m sorry I’m a jerk. I’m weird about getting gifts. The anxiety… it’s a habit. Or a defense mechanism.”

 

She smiled, forgiveness clear in her gaze. She leaned over and kissed his shoulder. “Don’t apologize. Just open the gift. I’m excited to see your reaction.”

 

Taking a deep breath, he scooted up the bed to angle up his body and tore off the pretty wrapping paper. It was an Amazon Echo.

 

He laughed. “This is so awesome, Betty! Such a practical, useful thing...is the romance gone…?” He made an exaggerated worried face.

 

“Shut up. I was just sucking your dick a minute ago, so don’t complain. You’ll love this! You can ask it to play all your favorite songs, you can ask it for the weather, you can tell it to buy things for you like books and movies, and even mundane shit like shampoo and liquid detergent, and you can play Jeopardy on it every day. There’s so much more but those things are totally worth it in and of itself.”

 

He watched her face as she talked, animated in her speech about all the great things this technological wonder can do. It occurred to him that she was excited for him, because he was going to enjoy this gift in all the ways she was telling him, and he believed her. This thing was fantastic.

 

“And Archie did say you two share an Amazon Prime account so this is perfect. All of you can enjoy it--and you’re laughing at me.”

 

“I’m not laughing,” he said, putting the device on her bedside table. “I’m happy. I am so lucky, Betty. I don’t know what I did to deserve you but here I am.”

 

“Juggie,” she said, sighing and lowering her head to his chest as she snuggled atop him. “I’m the lucky one. Most people run away from me the moment they see the scars. I really don’t blame them…”

 

“Those people have no idea what they’re missing. But if they don’t care to be part of your life, that’s their loss. More for me, too.”

 

She looked up and grinned, kissing him softly. “All for you.”

 

He stared at her wordlessly for several seconds, a set of words poised at his lips for a moment, before his nerves got the better of him.

 

“What is it?” she asked him, softly.

 

He pushed hair from off her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Kinda crazy about you. You have no idea.”

 

She looked shy all of a sudden, which was funny, since she was sitting on him with no underwear between him and her at the moment. “I have _some_ idea,” she said quietly. “I’m crazy about you, too, Juggie. I’m already dreading Thanksgiving. I’ll miss you so much.”

 

He chuckled. “That’s, like, practically two months away.”

 

“I know. I just… miss you when I don’t see you for a day, so four days is bound to be tough. God, I sound needy and crazy.”

 

“Of course not,” he said, melting at her words. “I miss you, too, when I don’t get see you.”

 

She reached up and played with his hair a bit. “You and Jellybean going to see your dad?”

 

He could hardly believe she remembered what he told her on their first date, but she was always so good with details. He nodded. “Then we’ll head down to Archie and his dad, like we always have.”

 

“I’m taking a train back to Riverdale to be with Chic and Polly, but we’ll be heading out to Boston to spend Thanksgiving with his adoptive family, the Murrays. They are the sweetest family. He has a couple of younger brothers there, and their parents are so--” she paused, thinking of the right words. “So _easy,_ you know. Like they aren’t real.”

 

He knew what she meant. “They’re real, Betts. Or I should say they’re normal. Just that your parents and my parents are so fucked up.”

 

They stared at one another for several seconds in this shared understanding. Neither of them needed to explain further. They _both_ got it.

 

“I like Chic’s parents a lot, though,” she said after a while.

 

“Yeah. I like Archie’s dad, too.”

 

They stayed in companionable silence for a while, until Jughead’s stomach growled.

 

Betty laughed. “I figured it was about time for breakfast.”

 

He grinned. “I’ll help.”

 

****************

 

On mornings like this, when the air was crisp and the sun was just about peeking from the horizon, Betty loved going out for a jog on the training field.  She often shared the field with the football team, but there was plenty of space for everyone.  

 

In the past, she had to bear the watchful stares of the team as she did her workouts, but on principle, she refused to change her routine.  Nevertheless, it was never easy doing what she had to do knowing that a bunch of boys were staring at her ass and weren’t even bothering to hide the fact.

 

Thank goodness for Archie. Since that evening she spent with Jughead, Archie, and Jellybean at their apartment, she’d been waving hi to Archie whenever she caught his eye. He would wave back, sometimes he would even come over to chat with her in his friendly way, and then he would go back to practice.  Since then, the football team has treated her less like a spectator sport, and if they were looking, they weren’t as obvious about it as they used to be.  

 

She did a few stretches on the sidelines, marveling at how much of a good day it was. She couldn’t remember feeling quite like this in a long, long time, where she is able to push away the junk or leaden anxieties and toss it in her mental trash bin.  

 

She wasn’t going to deny that a large share of her endorphins were being generated by Jughead’s constant presence.  

 

Since their very intimate birthday celebration at her apartment, he’d been different. A _good_ different, and she wasn’t so arrogant as to believe that her cake-making skills were that amazing.

 

It was hard to explain exactly what the difference was, because she always liked the way he was when they were together, whether alone or with other people. He was funny, and romantic, and incredibly intelligent  That hint of gang-smarts came to the fore whenever they went to the races, and that sent pleasant shivers through her body, much to her chagrin.

 

But those were the things she liked about him in the first place. The last few days since his birthday, there were little things she’d noticed that markedly made her feel all kinds of wonderful things with the way he looked at her, the things he said, or the fleeting touches that weren’t sexual at all.

 

Then there were the moments where he looked like he wanted to tell her something, and when she asked him about it, he would just smirk and shake his head, like he’d changed his mind.

 

She wanted to think that it was all positive, and with him it was easier to think that way. With him, it was easier to quiet the voice of Alice in her head. She had found it easier, in the last few weeks, to push back the tide of anxiety that so often came over her on any given day.  

 

Her feelings for Jughead Jones were strong and growing. She was falling, hard.

 

She loosened her joints, plugging in her earphones when she saw Archie approaching her.

 

She smiled and plucked out one earphone. “Hi, Arch!”

 

Archie grinned. “Hey, there, Betty. Ready to run?  Me and some of the other guys thought we’d run the track with you a bit later. That okay?”

 

She chuckled. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Some of us guys can use a change of pace, and I have a feeling some of the other dudes want to be motivated.”

 

She looked at him askance. “Motivated by what? Do they know I’m dating Jughead?”

 

“They know. Some of these guys just want to show off. Don’t worry, I got you.  No one’s going to be stupid enough to try anything.  So what do you say?”

 

“It’s a free country, Arch. I’m just running.”

 

“Cool.  I’ll tell the others. You don’t have to wait for us. Just run the loop and we’ll join you after we’re done with some of our routines.  It’s going to be fun--”  He stopped, looking over her shoulder with wide-eyed shock.

 

Curious, Betty followed his gaze and saw a guy and a girl approaching them.

 

The guy wore dark jeans, combat boots, a t-shirt, and a familiar looking leather jacket. His short, dark hair flopped over his eye in straight strands. He looked part Asian, probably Chinese, and in spite of the square jaw, he had boyish good looks.

 

The girl, with her dark brown skin and wide brown eyes, was gorgeous. Her petite frame was dressed in the same leather jacket. Her short denim skirt was black, paired with plaid leggings, boots, and a sheer shirt. Her black bra was showing right through, but most distinct was her pink hair, which she wore down her shoulders.

 

“Hey, Andrews,” said the girl, flashing a smirk not unlike Jughead’s. “Long time no see.”

 

“T-Toni,” Archie gasped. “What the--h-hey there, Sweet Pea! How’s it going, man?”

 

Betty recognized the name at once.  It was hard to forget the name Sweet Pea. She hadn’t expected him to look like _that,_ but then again, Jughead’s name didn’t say much about him, either.

 

Sweet Pea sauntered up to them, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Still got that weak left throw, Andrews?”

 

Archie frowned. “What do you--”

 

“Andrews!” screamed the coach from the field. “Quit talking to your girlfriends and get over here!”

 

Archie looked like he didn’t know what to do and Betty’s instincts for distress kicked in. She felt, in her bones, that these two were not here for _him_.  

 

Archie looked torn between his commitments and leaving her with these two, but he clearly knew them, and aside from the shocked look in his eyes, he didn’t seem afraid.

 

“You go ahead, Arch,” Betty said, nudging him. “I’ll take care of this.”

 

“But--”

 

“I’ll be fine. Go, before your coach kicks you off the team.”

 

Archie sighed. “Sweet Pea, don’t be a dick, okay? And Betty,” he pointed to where his teammates were gathered. “I’ll be right over there if you need me.”

 

She nodded, and casting them all wary looks, Archie reluctantly headed back to the field with his team.

 

Toni looked her over from head to foot. “And who are you supposed to be, sweet thing?”

 

Betty pursed her lips together.  She wanted to tell Toni that she didn’t like to be called a “sweet thing.” But Toni looked like she didn’t mean anything by it. She probably even meant it as a compliment. So carefully, she replied.

 

“I’m Betty, Jughead’s girlfriend.”  She put her hand out instinctively. Coopers introduced themselves properly, no matter what.

 

Toni’s eyebrow arched but she didn’t challenge Betty’s statement. She looked at the hand briefly before shaking it. “Toni. This lunk over here’s Sweet Pea.”

 

Sweet Pea saluted. Betty did not extend her hand to him.  

 

“I have to say that you are not at all what I would expect Jughead’s girlfriend to be,” Toni said.  

 

Betty tried not to bristle at that. “Jughead doesn’t like being predictable, but out of curiosity, what were you expecting?”

 

Toni shrugged. “I dunno. More… Nancy to Jughead’s Sid.”

 

Betty scowled at the comparison. “Okay, Sid and Nancy had a really abusive relationship and Sid stabbed Nancy to death.”

 

Toni looked slightly taken aback, but she she smirked as she gave a huff. “You are _totally_ Jughead’s girlfriend.”

 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Betty asked, patiently.

 

“It means you’re more a smart ass than she is,” Sweet Pea said, chuckling.

 

Toni slapped his arm with the back of her hand, but she was smirking. “Shut up, Sweet Pea.”

 

Betty eyed them thoughtfully. About the only thing she got right about how she imagined Sweet Pea to look like was his height. He was a large guy, with broad shoulders and a permanent hint of anger in his eyes. She can understand how the other Serpents would follow him out of sheer, physical presence. She wondered, too, if his startling good looks helped or hindered him.  

 

This was the first time she was hearing about Toni.  Betty couldn’t help but wonder if Jughead and Toni had ever had a thing. She was so pretty and sassy, and if there was anything Betty knew about Jughead, it was that he admired a good mind.

 

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you aren’t here to watch Archie practice his throw,” Betty pointed out.  

 

Sweet Pea scoffed and Toni shot him a glare.  It was interesting to see their Good Cop, Bad Cop dynamic. Betty wondered if it was on purpose or if it was just the roles they naturally fell into.

 

“We need to talk to Jughead,” Toni said.  “We lost all means of contacting him shortly after he left for college and we don’t do the social media because some of us accidentally make public posts.”

 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. “I did that _one time.”_

 

Toni clearly had no time for qualifiers. “We knew about Andrews being on the football team so we figured we’d catch him at practice. We just need Jughead’s number and we’ll take care of the rest.”

 

Betty stifled a smirk.  She supposed Serpents were used to getting their way when they asked for stuff from regular people.  It was like their own special Jedi Mind Trick, but instead of the force, they had leather jackets and years of gang swagger behind them.

 

Well, Betty has had her own life training. First with Alice, then with the underground racing circuit. She didn’t scare easily. “Why don’t you and Sweet Pea make yourselves comfortable on the bleachers? Let me get back to you in a bit.”

 

Toni’s eyebrow arched in surprise.

 

Betty waited patiently for that to sink in, planting a hand on her hip and standing her ground.

 

It was Sweet Pea who blinked first. “Give us his number, or--”

 

“Sweet Pea!” Toni hissed. _“Not_ the way we treat Jughead’s girlfriend.”

 

Betty didn’t expect _that._

 

Toni looked at her when it seemed like Sweet Pea had quieted down. “Sorry about that, Sunshine.” She cocked a grin, giving Betty a soft look. “We’ll wait over there while you call Jug. It’s cool. And nice shorts. I like the color.”

 

Toni’s eyes raked over her legs and Betty had to figure out whether Toni was flirting with her or what.  

 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and headed for the bleachers muttering, “Unbelievable.”

 

With Toni and Sweet Pea settling on the side, Betty turned and dialed Jughead’s number. He would likely be asleep, and if she were anyone else, he’d be cranky, but she knew Jughead was never cranky with her.  

 

Three rings later, Jughead picked up. “Hey, babe,” he said in his sleepy bedroom voice. She could almost hear him smirking. “Missed me?”

 

“Hi Juggie,” she said, softly, easily shedding the tough tone she had taken with Toni. Her heart beat faster for a moment. She was always so glad to talk to Jughead.  “I always miss you. Sorry to wake you up. I know you had a late night.”

 

“S’okay. What time is it?”

 

“Early,” was all she said. “So, I just had a quick conversation with your friends, Toni and Sweet Pea--”

 

“What?”  The drowsiness was gone from his voice.  “Did you just say you talked to Toni and--”

 

“Sweet Pea, yes. I’m looking at them right now. They want to talk to you. Shall I give them your number?”

 

 _“Fuck,”_ he hissed. “Where are you?”

 

“Robert K. Kraft Field.”

 

“I’ll be there in fifteen. You--you don’t really have to be afraid of them, Betts. They won’t hurt you. They just look--”

 

“Juggie, it’s fine. They don’t scare me and Toni’s… does she like girls?”

 

Jughead groaned. “Ten. I’ll be there in ten… fucking unbelievable…”  He muttered that last part, and it amused Betty that he and Sweet Pea had almost exactly identical reactions.  “Just, hang in there.”

 

The call ended and Betty went to Toni and Sweet Pea who had settled themselves on the bleachers. Sweet Pea had his foot up on the railing and Toni had taken up two seats.  

 

“Jughead will be here in ten minutes,” she informed them.

 

“Ain’t going anywhere,” Sweet Pea said.

 

Toni patted the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit with us, Sunshine? We don’t bite. Unless you want us to.” She winked.

 

Betty couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her.  “Would love to, but I need to get a few laps in.  Okay if I leave you here?”

 

“In this tough crowd? We’re good,” Sweet Pea replied.

 

Betty knew he was joking, but she did notice some folks looking at them suspiciously and she did feel a weird sense of protectiveness over them. These were Jughead’s friends, after all. He wore the same jacket they did and they were a part of his history if they weren’t still friends. “If anyone bothers you, Toni, just wave. I’ll come right over.”

 

“Aw, aren’t you sweet?”

 

“Like candy. Ten minutes.”  She leaves them on the bleachers and takes off running on the track.  She popped in her earphones and played her music as she built her jog to a steady pace.

 

In the back of her mind, a distant voice was nagging her about the Serpents re-emerging from Jughead’s past.

 

She didn’t want to think about it at the moment. Not when she had no idea why they had shown up. It could be nothing.

 

It could be everything.

 

She jogged away her anxiety.

 

********************

 

Jughead arrived at the field, slightly out of breath.  He had thrown on a pair of jeans, a tank, his plaid, and without thinking, his Serpent jacket. He could’ve grabbed his other leather jacket, the one he used more regularly, free of any gang logos, but his mind had worked on instinct.

 

At least he had the presence of mind to wash his face, brush his teeth, and put on his beanie, so he wasn’t in complete panic mode.  

 

Getting that call from Betty first thing in the morning did raise his cortisol levels a smidgen, but not because he was afraid Toni or Sweet Pea would hurt her. They wouldn’t. They may, in fact, treat her as one of their own if they were even slightly aware of her relationship to him.  Just one of the many unspoken codes of the gang, but they hadn’t sought him out in years. He doubted that this was a social call.

 

He scanned the field and saw Sweet Pea and Toni on the bleachers. They were hard to miss, clad in their edgy black clothes amidsts the sea of the preppy, suburban-raised student body. He would get to them in a minute.

 

Right now, he was looking for Betty, and he spotted her golden blonde ponytail making the turn on the track.  He waited for her, and about 200 hundred feet away, she smiled, spotting him.  

 

He couldn’t help but smile back.

 

When she got to him, she caught her breath, a blush rising into her cheeks from the run.  “Hey, you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his lips.

 

He sighed, happily, wrapping his arms around her to prolong the kiss. She smelled like the morning, and he could taste her lip gloss. He resisted the urge to cop a feel from her, because her shorts were raising his body temperature.

 

He hummed against her lips. “I wish this is what I came for.”

 

They separated and she flashed him a tender smile, then she nodded in the direction of Toni and Sweet Pea. “They’re over there.”

 

“I saw. Did they just show up here and talk to you?”

 

She shook her head. “They came for Archie. I just happened to be talking to him when they did.  Archie had to go back to practice so I took over.”

 

He sighed. “Were they rude to you?”

 

“Not at all,” she replied. “They just wanted to contact you.”

 

“Right. Listen, if you can give me a few minutes--”

 

“Go talk to them. I need to finish my run, anyway. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll join you, okay?”

 

He nodded, his brows creasing into a scowl.

 

She tilted her gaze at him, cupping his face between her hands. “You good, Jones?”

 

“More than good. Go do your run.”  

 

She gave him one last kiss before taking off again.  

 

Jughead watched her for a few seconds before making his way to where Toni and Sweet Pea were draped over the bleachers.

 

Toni smiled when she saw him and got up from her seat. She didn’t look like she changed much from the last time he saw her. She still looked young, she still looked edgy, and she still had pink hair. The only thing that really changed with her was the length of her hair. It was much longer from the bob he remembered her sporting.

 

Sweet Pea looked broader. Taller, if that were possible. He still had that dark cloud hanging around him and Jughead had no doubt that the temper Sweet Pea was known and feared for hadn’t softened in the least.

 

“Jughead Jones!” Toni said without a hint of animosity. “Look at you! All filled out. University agrees with you.”

 

He gave her a tight smile, stepping into her open arms. Sometimes he never knew with Toni, whether the warmth was an act or not, for one reason or another. She was capable of love and loyalty, for sure, and he had no doubts about the friendship and loyalty she had for him, but sometimes she fronted with uncharacteristic displays of affection. She would never, for instance, give Sweet Pea a hug.

 

Still, she’d had her moments. Maybe she sincerely missed him.

 

“Not looking so bad yourself, Topaz,” Jughead said lightly. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

 

Sweet Pea approached him, a smirk on his lips. He hooked Jughead’s hand, pulled him close so they can pat each other on the back, then stepped away in that ritual, manly greeting.

 

With Sweet Pea, at least, Jughead was sure the gesture was genuine. If Sweet Pea had in any way been mad, he would’ve clocked Jughead on the jaw already.

 

“Not too bad,” Sweet Pea replied. “How’s JB?”

 

“She’s good. Cool as always.”

 

“Met your girlfriend, dude. Major upgrade. Full offense, Topaz.”

 

“Bite me, you jerk.”

 

Jughead scoffed. “Stop. Toni needed only one excuse to leave my sorry ass, and it came in a skirt.”

 

“Aw, you still sore about Ginger?” Toni teased.

 

Jughead shrugged. “She was from Central Jersey for fuck’s sake.”

 

That actually made Sweet Pea and Toni laugh.

 

“Even I have to admit,” Toni said, her eyes trailing Betty as she ran the track. “She’s a smokeshow, dude. That ass…”

 

“Eyes forward, Topaz,” Jughead said, unable to suppress his clipped tone. He didn’t like talking about Betty that way. “What are you guys doing here? I highly doubt this is a social call. If you wanted to see me you would’ve done it a couple of years ago.”

 

Sweet Pea scowled. “Look who’s talking.”

 

Jughead felt a bubble of annoyance rise to his chest. “Hey man, you knew my number that first year. I texted you, Toni, and even Fangs. None of you ever followed up after you’d text back with bullshit about ‘getting together.’ Exactly what did you expect from me?”

 

Toni and Sweet Pea exchanged looks, possibly guilty ones.

 

Toni sighed. “Look, the crew and I agreed—you were getting out of the gang. Out of the cycle. We didn’t want to suck you back in.”

 

“Aw, that’s really sweet of you,” Jughead said. “You’re a buncha dicks, you know that? By all means, radio silence is always preferred to adult discussion.”

 

It was odd, this coming to Jesus conversation. He hadn’t even realized how pissed he was until now. When it dawned on him that his Serpent friends were stonewalling him, he just let himself be grateful for his situation, where he was making money legitimately and getting an education in an Ivy League school. He told himself that there was no place for resentment when he had no reason to complain.

 

But sometimes he wondered whether all those days he spent being completely and absolutely real with these guys didn’t mean anything. He asked himself if his gang persona was just a phase or a moment in time where he was his actual, unedited self. After all, they stole cars together. There was absolutely no room for bullshit between them in a situation like that.

 

And Toni. His friendship with her survived their three-month high school relationship. At the very least, she could’ve kept in touch with a Christmas text or something. She wasn’t above that shit. Toni actually sent pictures to friends, by regular mail, during the holidays, like a freaking Biker Martha Stewart, and she cut him off just like that. What the fuck was that all about?

 

Toni shrugged. “We did it for you, dude.”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Alright, fuck that bullshit. Did Tall Boy tell you I was out? My father was in jail and with me out of the way, he could run the gang his way, especially since I was conveniently out of the picture?”

 

Sweet Pea scowled. “I ain’t blaming Tall Boy. Yeah, he _did_ tell us to cut you off—“

 

“Thanks! Thanks for _finally_ telling me that!” Jughead said, voice raised and arms out. He actually kicked a chair. “Un-fucking believable!”

 

“But it was our choice, too,” Sweet Pea continued. “Believe it or not, we actually wanted you to succeed. We ain’t stupid, man. The way we ran our lives, jacking cars, hustling for the next windfall, it’s a shitpile. When something better comes along, you grab it and you don’t look back.”

 

Jughead couldn’t say he didn’t understand where they were coming from. If it had been any of them, Jughead would’ve wanted them to succeed, too, but Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs were a part of who he had become, and he couldn’t imagine that they would’ve wanted to have gotten cut off the way they cut him off.

 

In an environment of car stealing, maybe petty marijuana transactions, and rumors of gun running, the four of them _trusted_ one another as friends, not as gang bangers.

 

“Where the fuck is Fangs, anyway?” Jughead asked.

 

Toni smirked. “He has school later. Community college.”

 

Jughead was mildly surprised about that. He couldn’t help but feel pleased about that, too. “Well, fuck.”

 

Toni laughed. “You ain’t the only one with big dreams, FP3.”

 

He was glad for Fangs, but he couldn’t resist asking the question: “You gonna ghost him, too?”

 

She shrugged. “We still see a lot of him.”

 

“Is that what it was? Outta sight, outta mind?”

 

“Maybe. We try not to get him too involved anymore, either, but when Tall Boy sees him, he doesn’t care--he just sends Fangs to do a job like the boy weren't trying to get an education. If we could get Fangs outta that life, too, we would.” She sighed and let her gaze take in the view of the field. “Jug, just look at this place. Look at _you._ We ain’t gonna apologize for what we did. You’re in a good place. You think your girl would’ve given you the time of day if she hadn't met you here?”

 

Jughead frowned. “Don’t bring her into this. You know nothing about Betty.” His flare of anger, however, was dissipating, going back to the dull thrum of sadness and regret that had permeated his memories of them the last couple of years. How could he stay angry at them, really? They cared about him and in some, sad way, their loyalties to the gang aligned with their desire to let him move forward. “So after all this time, why now?”

 

Toni looked at Sweet Pea and Jughead had a distinct feeling that this was not going to be good. Toni always delivered bad news best, but Sweet Pea always delivered the worst.

 

“You had a run in with Malachi a few weeks back.”

 

Jughead did feel the slightest bit apprehensive. “What did you hear?”

 

“Word was you beat him in a street race and got him thrown off William Person’s, a.k.a. Hans’s circuit.”

 

Jughead laughed sardonically. “Is that what he said? Did he mention that he threw a molotov cocktail at B—our car during the race?”

 

Sweet Pea made a menacing sound. “Those sons of bitches are nasty, through and through.”

 

“Technically, I didn’t get him thrown off the race. The driver did. I was just the navigator, but I’d have done the same in a heartbeat.”

 

“Malachi did not take that lightly,” Sweet Pea said. “He was establishing a foothold in that circuit to sell his JJ. Smart move, because Hans gets around—he does races all over the tri-state area. Malachi’s plan was to get his JJ distributed all over. Imagine his surprise when the Serpent's absentee prince showed up and ruined his plans. I’m shocked he didn’t try to kill you again.”

 

_Again._

 

“Fuck,” Jughead hissed, the realization hitting him like a cannonball.

 

Betty. _He_ put her in danger.

 

Malachi wasn’t trying to win that race. He was trying to get rid of Jughead so he could establish his JJ pipeline unhampered.

 

Toni scoffed at Sweet Pea’s words. “Malachi wouldn’t dare try to do in Jughead. That would start a gang war that he honestly has no time for. That was a warning shot. He wanted to intimidate Jughead to get out of his way.”

 

“You don’t know that, Toni,” Jughead said, darkly. “I surprised him that night. He wasn’t ready for me. That Molotov cocktail was probably something they cooked up on the fly.”

 

“Please,” Toni said. “Malachi never goes anywhere without a piece. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve used _that._ He wasn’t sure whether or not you were still with the gang and he wasn’t going to risk that you were. We know because he’s been putting out feelers. Finding out if you’re still working for the gang. He’s also wondering if you’re trying to corner the market in Hans’s circuit.”

 

Jughead scowled. “Corner the market? For what?”

 

Toni and Sweet Pea looked at each other again, and once more, it was Sweet Pea who spoke

 

“Toni and I—we’ve been hearing things. We think Tall Boy’s gone into the JJ business.”

 

Jughead’s jaw dropped. _“What?”_

 

Toni nodded. “Tall Boy’s been low key dealing JJ on his own for years already, but we never thought he’d get the Serpents in on it. Right now, we’re not privy to it, but we have our suspicions. Tall Boy doesn’t need the younger crew turning on him—there are plenty of us still loyal to what you and your dad believed in, which was no drugs, selling or using, but the money’s rolling in from somewhere that he’s not telling all of us, and there’s going to be a point when we can’t pretend _not knowing_ anymore. We’re gonna get sucked in.”

 

Jughead sighed and shook his head. “What if Malachi finds out I’m not an active Serpent?”

 

“He’ll get rid of you, and probably the driver who kicked him out. He’ll want to get back into Hans’s circuit.”

 

Jughead was afraid that would be the answer. He looked out at the track, watching Betty run past people, getting lost in her own space.

 

If anything happened to her he would lose it. Everything he built would unravel. And it wasn’t just her. What would happen to Jellybean if something happened to him?

 

He looked at Sweet Pea intently. “If by thinking I’m still working for the Serpents, Malachi won’t hurt me and mine, then we’re just going to have to make him keep thinking I am.”

 

Toni sighed. “Jughead, I don’t know. Tall Boy might have a problem with that and I don’t even know _what_ Malachi would do if he won’t kill you.”

 

 _“Fuck_ Tall Boy,” Jughead hissed. “And Malachi could kiss my ass.”

 

Sweet Pea laughed. _“There’s_ the Jughead Jones I know!”

 

Toni shot Sweet Pea a deadly look before turning back to Jughead with a scowl. “There’s no pretending, Jug. You and I both know you can’t fake this shit. You start acting like a Serpent again, then you’re back. You’re going to throw all _this--”_ she gestured to the field around her. “--away? What’ll Betty think?”

 

“I’m going to do what it takes to protect her, Toni,” he said, without thinking.

 

“Protect her? What does she have to do with this?”

 

Jughead supposed that in light of the situation, it could not have been a secret that he could’ve kept from them for long. Should he tell them?  

 

Or perhaps the question was: should he tell _Betty?_

 

Betty came running up the track and slowed to a stop in front of them. She looked up at him, her smile waning just the slightest.

 

“Hey, Juggie. Everything alright?”

 

God, he loved her.

 

He would do anything for her.  

 

And as she stood there, her eyes throwing him in sweet turmoil with her look of perfect trust, he didn’t know how to answer her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos on this story. Your support and positive energy sustains me.


	11. Once a Serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead falls back into old habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Riverdale day, people! 
> 
> This chapter is slower but will give us a glimpse of what Jughead was, well, like.

 

I want to hide the truth

I want to shelter you

But with the beast inside

There’s nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breed

We still are made of greed

This is my kingdom come

This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat

Look into my eyes

It’s where my demons hide

It’s where my demons hide

Don’t get too close

It’s dark inside

It’s where my demons hide

\--Demons, by Imagine Dragons

 

“Finished with your run, Sunshine?” Toni asked Betty from behind him.

 

Jughead looked over his shoulder at Toni, throwing her an annoyed look. _“Sunshine?_ You aren’t even pretending, are you? Like, I’m right _here.”_

 

Toni smirked. “It’s just small talk, Bossman. Just a girl being friendly to another girl.”

 

“Right,” Sweet Pea drawled. “Friendly.”

 

Jughead was struck by Toni calling him Bossman. It’s what she used to call him when he led them back in the day. Were they falling back into old habits? Was this already happening?

 

Betty sighed, planting a hand on her waist. “Juggie, do you want me to take another lap? Archie and some guys on the football team wanted to take a lap with me, anyway, so it’s no big deal if you need more time.”

 

God, no. He wanted her to be here, beside him, and then he wanted to curl himself into her arms, just to get lost in her comforting embrace, so he didn’t have to deal with gang politics and the dangers that came with it.  

 

The football team, though.

 

He looked up and saw some guys from the team looking in Betty’s direction and Jughead wondered what it would be like for the student body if, by some catastrophe, Betty left his miserable ass and started dating other guys.

 

There would most definitely be blood.

 

“Jughead vs. the Football Team,” Sweet Pea said, laughing. “Now there’s a fight I’d pay to see. Who’s side will Andrews be on? I’d still bet on Jughead. He’s scrappy.”

 

Jughead cast him a glare. “Oh, shut up, Sweet Pea.”

 

Betty crossed her arms over her chest, her facial expression one of an adult watching a bunch of twelve year olds spouting out nonsense. “I’ll give you guys a few more minutes. Give you a chance to elevate this conversation.”

 

“No, don’t go, Betts. We’re done with it. C’mere,” Jughead said, his tone gentling for her. “But in fairness, this football team shit keeps coming up like a cyst.”

 

“Jug,” she chastised him softly as she climbed the bleachers and slid into his arms.  “They were just looking for a change of routine.”

 

“I bet,” he said, wrapping her in his embrace and resting his chin above her head. She muttered that she was all sweaty and gross, and he muttered back that _naw, she was not gross._ She was warm against him and the smell of her shampoo was coming off her head.

 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. “You’re _both_ gross, actually.”  

 

“You gonna tell me I got cooties, Sweet Pea?” Jughead asked. He managed to catch the attention of the football players who were gesturing frustratedly in his direction. He gave them all the finger behind Betty’s back.  

 

Sweet Pea and Toni laughed hysterically as the football players shook their heads, some of them sarcastically clapping in Jughead’s direction. All the while, Archie just shrugged his shoulders, an “Oh, well!” expression on his face as he took off on the track on his own, sans Betty.  One by one, his teammates followed

 

“What’s so funny?” Betty asked, looking up from his chest.  

 

“Nothing,” Jughead said before his Serpent friends could say anything. He looked her in the eyes and his worry was suddenly reflected in her gaze. In the few weeks they’ve been together, she was already so attuned to his moods and feelings.

 

“Juggie, what’s wrong?” she asked.

 

He thought about Betty on that track alone, racing against Malachi, about how he’d have probably ran Betty off the road just so he wouldn’t lose to a girl.  

 

He thought about him and her, telling each other’s darkest secrets. Hers had been forced by Kevin’s meddling, and him because he trusted her and because he wanted them to be closer.

 

And now here they were, barely capable of staying apart and danger becoming all too real.  He didn’t know what he had expected, really. They were racing illegally. You look for trouble, trouble will find you.

 

Only, he was supposed to keep her safe and it resulted in putting her in more danger.   

 

Did he have to break up with her now? Is that what he had to do?

 

The thought of doing that gave him physical pain, and ultimately, it would help no one. If he broke up with Betty, she would still be going to the races and she would still be the one who got Malachi kicked out of the circuit.

 

Being with him, the Serpent who was the only person capable of taking the reigns from Tall Boy as the son of FP Jones II, actually bought her time if it didn’t keep her safe permanently.  Betty, as his girlfriend, was protected _by_ the Serpents, and if anyone dared to hurt her, it could result in a passionate gang war that could get way too many people killed on both sides. They didn’t even need him to want revenge. They’d take up that cause themselves, seeing it as a slight to the gang’s strength.

 

This was not something he could keep from her.

 

He needed to tell her everything. He needed to keep her safe.

 

“The four of us need to talk,” he said, somberly.

 

Toni frowned. “Okay, I get that you two are in love and all, but we don’t need to tell her anything.”

 

Jughead figured he’d pretend for a moment that Toni didn’t just make him feel incredibly naked by using the L word, but he did have plenty to distract him from the second part of her statement.

 

“Yes, Toni, we do,” Jughead said, testily.

 

“Third rule of the Serpents, Jones,” Sweet Pea said. “Or have you forgotten already? Serpent business is Serpent business. No outsiders.”

 

Betty cringed. “Juggie, it’s alr--”

 

“No, Betts,” Jughead said, keeping his arm over her shoulders. He looked at Toni and Sweet Pea. “You two need to understand something here, _right now_ . You came to _me_ about this, and not just because Malachi’s been talking up a storm about me. You’re here because your're loyal to me and because you need me to fix the situation with Tall Boy. So if you’re going to second-guess me, this isn’t going to work.  Now are you going to trust me on this or not?”

 

Toni and Sweet Pea said nothing at first.

 

“It’s one or the other. There’s no in between,” Jughead added.  

 

At that, Sweet Pea sighed and nodded. “Fine. But you better have a good reason to bring her in on this.”

 

“For once, I agree with the lunkhead,” Toni said.

 

“Oh, believe me,” Jughead said, looking at Betty, whose worried expression was deepening by the second. “My reasons are pretty goddamn good.”

 

**************

 

Betty played with the swizzle stick in her coffee as she took in Jughead’s facial expressions and body language.

 

He hadn’t flashed a single smile since she joined their little circle, and it wasn’t for lack of anything funny.  Toni and Sweet Pea had grinned, smiled, and laughed at one thing or another several times already, and during those times, Jughead had given maybe a grunt, and his lips had tightened to something that could’ve been a smile.  

 

He wasn’t being unfriendly or anything like that. He spoke to them openly and his sardonic commentary was biting and funny. Also, he had barely let her go--a hand on her knee, his arm over her shoulders, his fingers entwined in hers. He was there for her physically, as if to remind her that even if he sounded a bit different, or acted a bit different, he was the Jughead she knew.

 

She had noticed that maybe his shoulders were a bit more squared--could’ve been the jacket--and his stance a little broader. But most distinct was the _lighter._ He had one, apparently, hidden in one of the many pockets of his Serpent jacket, and now it’s made an appearance and he was flipping it over and over, open and closed, with his other hand.

 

Had he been a smoker? Nobody but her seemed surprised about it.

 

They were sitting in a place that called itself a diner. It had the chrome plated decor, that 50s vintage vibe, except these had likely been fabricated in the 80s. It wasn’t entirely authentic, which suited Betty just fine, but for these three Northern New Jerseyans who grew up in the Diner Capital of the World, this place was just the worst. They, in fact, spent the first ten minutes, after sitting and looking at the menu, whispering complaints to one another about how overpriced everything was and how the booths were kind of tiny.

 

“How are we going to make room for your plates and my plates and _their_ plates?” Toni had hissed. “I’m nowhere near as big as you guys and my thigh is touching Sweet Pea’s. I try to keep my junk away from his junk as much as possible and this is not making me happy.”

 

Sweet Pea had smirked. “You sure about that, squirt? I think you secretly like it and you’re just fronting.”

 

“I tasted vomit in my mouth just now.”

 

Betty wasn’t going to complain about the tight fit. She’d take whatever excuse she could get to be close to Jughead.

 

“Just get whatever,” Jughead grumbled. “Breakfast is on me.”

 

Toni and Sweet Pea did not object to that, which was interesting. It was like they were _used_ to having Jughead take care of them like this.

 

This was the side of Jughead that was their Serpent leader. The guy they looked to when they had a problem that needed solving. The guy who brought out the big guns (hopefully only in a figurative sense) when they needed that hierarchical muscle.

 

Perhaps it didn’t astound Betty as much as it should have, how easily he slipped into it. After all, when they were at the races, he didn’t hesitate to switch into that tough-talking, intimidating FP Jones III guy.  

 

She did wonder what kind of reputation FP Jones III had before he left it behind and published his book. She didn’t know if she wanted to ask.

 

After they placed their orders, Toni crossed her arms over the table, arching her eyebrow.

 

“So,” she began. “Mind explaining to us what Betty is doing here? No offense, Sunshine.”

 

“I would prefer it if you stop calling me that,” Betty said, primly, which was, in the grand scheme of things, hilariously unimportant.

 

But if anything, _that’s_ what coaxed the smirk out of Jughead. “Stop calling her that, Toni.”

 

Toni rolled her eyes but didn’t object.  What the Bossman said, she followed. “Fine. So explain already.”

 

Sweet Pea said nothing, choosing instead to stare at her and Jughead at intervals, his eyes examining them both.

 

Jughead drank his coffee. “Malachi didn’t tell you who was actually driving the car that beat his ass at the race track.”

 

Betty looked at Jughead in surprise, then mild panic. He wouldn’t, would he? Tell Toni and Sweet Pea her secret? Then again, they could’ve been in any of these races. These guys weren’t Columbia co-eds or a Park Avenue prince and princess, they were Serpents, and they were more at home in the underground circuit than she was.

 

Jughead immediately sensed her anxiety and he rubbed the juncture between her neck and shoulder with gentle pressure. His eyes gentled and his tone, gruff and firm when talking to Toni and Sweet Pea, softened for her. “They need to know, babe.”

 

“Why?” she asked, a slight whine in her tone. She didn’t know if she wanted to share this with _them._ This was a part of her that she only gave to the people she loved and trusted. Kevin and Jughead. That was it. Even her siblings didn’t know. And now Jughead was asking her to tell these strangers.

 

She could tell he understood that, because she could see the apology in his gaze, so he answered her question, softly so that nobody else outside the booth could hear.

 

He told her about how Malachi had come to those races strategically to grow his drug trade, how Jughead being in that race had caused Malachi to take drastic measures to intimidate him, how gang politics and turf wars came into play in this entire scenario, and how, while it was his Serpent reputation that had gotten them into this mess, it was also the only way to keep him and _her_ safe.

 

It dawned on her, then, that he was telling Toni and Sweet Pea because he had no choice.

 

“Jug,” she whispered, clasping his hand under the table.

 

“I’m sorry, Betts,” he said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

 

Her eyebrows knotted, and worry did fill her heart, but she wasn’t at the point of spiraling. It was probably going to happen some point in the day, but for now, Jughead’s presence was calming.  Right now, she felt safe. Jughead made her feel safe.

 

“If not this, then it would’ve been another thing,” she said, quietly. “Hans doesn’t exactly run a clean operation. I’m surprised Malachi didn’t make a deal with Hans first, and maybe that was his mistake. If Malachi had given this more thought and offered Hans a cut of the profits, then I don’t think any amount of Molotov cocktails could’ve gotten him thrown out.”

 

Jughead’s eyebrow arched in surprise, then a smirk quirked his lips.  

 

“Okay, hold up,” Toni said, scowling. “I’m confused. What does Betty have to do with all of this again and why is she talking shop like El Chapo?”

 

Before Betty could ruminate on Toni comparing her to a drug lord, Jughead took a deep breath and shot Betty a questioning gaze. He was asking permission.  Betty nervously fidgeted with her coffee cup, but she nodded.

 

Jughead looked Toni and Sweet Pea in the eyes. “It was Betty at the driver’s seat that night.   _She_ beat Malachi. _She_ told Hans that she never wanted to see the Ghoulies in his circuit ever again.”

 

Toni and Sweet Pea’s jaws dropped, staring at her, no doubt flabbergasted by the idea of the impression they had of her, of this blonde, ponytailed college kid who was wearing arguably fashionable jogging attire, with signature running shoes, and a hint of lip gloss, getting in a car and racing the shit out of rival gangs, and getting in the way of their drug empires.

 

“Well, _damn_ girl,” Toni gasped. “Where have you been all my life?”

 

***************

 

They were eating their pancakes, the pile of shared sausages and bacon in the middle of the table dwindling to exasperatingly low levels in such a short time.

 

Jughead had already called the attention of the server, asking for a refill. He and Toni were packing it in at an astonishingly fast rate.

 

Sweet Pea snorted. “Nothing has changed. Still both human garbage disposals.”

 

Betty tried not to laugh. By contrast, Sweet Pea had gone with a surprisingly genteel egg-white omelet with red and green bell peppers, mushrooms, and a bit of ham.  So far, Sweet Pea had finished his omelet but left the hash browns and lightly powdered toast untouched, declaring that Toni could finish it if she wanted it, because he was going to finish his fruit plate, instead.

 

Toni hadn’t even hesitated. She used her fork to move Sweet Pea’s plate closer to her and pushed the offending plate of fruit away from her.

 

“Not a fan of carbs?” Betty asked him.

 

Sweet Pea scoffed. “My body is a temple. It’s okay to indulge every once in awhile, but you can’t keep treating it like _that.”_ He made circling gestures towards the array of greasy proteins and maple-slathered processed foods.

 

“Master Shifu over here has always been the purveyor of holistic health,” Jughead grumbled with a mouth full of pancake.

 

“Okay, first of all, just because I’m half Chinese, you don’t get to make Kung Fu jokes at me and think that’s okay. And second of all, _Shifu_ means master in Chinese, so you’re actually calling me Master Master.”

 

“First of all, smart ass,” Jughead countered, stabbing the air with his knife. “I get to make Kung Fu jokes at you because the walls of your room are probably still covered in Kung Fu movie posters _and_ Jet Li--”

 

Toni nodded in the affirmative. Sweet Pea shoved her lightly on the shoulder.

 

Jughead continued without missing a beat. “Secondly, don’t give me shit about _Shifu._ You don’t even speak Chinese.”

 

Toni laughed through her mouth full of Sweet Pea’s hash browns.

 

“What would Betty do in this situation?” Sweet Pea said. He looked at her plate of eggs and toast with a side of bacon. “Betty, you look like you make healthy choices. What you have there is arguably a more balanced meal if you had skipped the bacon, but you were running the track this morning, so you worked for that side of processed pig belly slivers and trans-fat.”

 

Betty tried not to let Sweet Pea’s words trigger her. Alice had used worse words to label fatty foods like bacon and sausages, but even Sweet Pea’s relatively mild pejoratives were turning her appetite.

 

“Don’t listen to him, babe,” Jughead said, probably noting the disgusted look on her face. “That’s cult talk. That bacon is delicious and it feeds your gorgeous body.  Let Betty enjoy her bacon, dick wad.”

 

Toni reached across the table to grab it and Jughead rapped her wrist with his fork.

 

“Leave it, Topaz!” Jughead said, sternly. “I already ordered a new plate. What are you doing?”

 

Betty giggled softly, appreciating the way Jughead fended off anything remotely close to fat shaming.

 

Even being entertained by the light banter, she still had to remind herself that Jughead had spent _years_ with these guys, that they had been through a lot, and the camaraderie she was seeing now was built from perhaps Jughead’s darkest years.  Jughead didn’t talk about Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs at all, but she had a feeling there was a story behind that lack of sharing, too.

 

They argued a bit more about the food again, but when the new plate of bacon arrived, it was like a ceasefire descended so that all warring parties could continue eating.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Toni said after piling her plate with more food. “You’ve been racing the underground for how long?”

 

“Since I was sixteen,” Betty replied.

 

Toni shook her head, mystified. “Why? What for? Princess got bored with the tea parties and cheer routines?”

 

Betty sighed. _This_ part she wasn’t willing to share. Her eyes lowered to her plate and she spread her hands over her lap, digging her nails into her thighs. She felt Jughead rubbing her back soothingly and she looked at him, drawing on his calm. Her grip loosened.

 

“You know nothing about her, Toni,” Jughead said, though the edge was gone from his voice. “She doesn’t need to tell you why.”

 

Toni shrugged. “Just wondering, that’s all. I get that what we put out there is different than the lives we actually live. Nobody wants to see your dirty laundry aired out after all, but if I lived your life, gorgeous, I wouldn’t risk it to swim in the same tank with the likes of Malachi.”

 

“We all got our reasons,” Sweet Pea said. “Ain’t no one’s business but our own.”

 

“Confucius over here,” Toni muttered.

 

“I’ll give you the Kung Fu jokes, but that right there’s just racist.”

 

“Alright, Jackie Chan. I’ll quit it with the Chinese stereotypes if you quit it with the tits and bi jokes.”

 

Betty arched her eyebrow, mock-indignantly. “Sweet Pea,” she said in her best impression of a school marm.

 

His eyes widened, as if surprised that he had gotten called out by _her._ “Okay, it’s not as bad as she makes it sound!”

 

Betty was a little surprised herself. She was kidding. Certainly he didn’t think that he had to answer to her, did he? She looked at Jughead for some clarity, but he wasn’t much help, as all he did was stifle his smirk.

 

“Sweet Pea,” Betty finally said. “I was kidding. Mostly.”

 

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

They continued to eat their breakfast, finishing most of it before Jughead spoke again.

 

“So here’s what I want to happen. I want to convince Malachi that he can’t mess with me or with Betty. If he thinks we’re in the way of growing his drug empire, I don’t want him thinking he could touch us. Do you need me to talk to Tall Boy?”

 

“I’ll take care of Tall Boy,” Sweet Pea said.

 

Toni nodded in Betty’s direction. “When’s your next big race, Bosslady?”

 

_Bosslady._

 

Betty didn’t think she was the boss of anything. “Er--” Her uncertain gaze met Jughead’s, which seemed mildly apologetic, but he didn’t gainsay Toni, which led Betty to believe that this was just the way it was going to be. “I—I don’t get an advanced schedule. Hans texts me that there’s a race on the day of and I go.”

 

“How much of a lead time do you get?”

 

“A few hours.”

 

Toni nodded at Jughead. “Should be enough time.”

 

Betty looked at Jughead questioningly. “Enough time for what?”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Betty,” Toni said. “I got you.”

 

Before Betty could ask any more details, Sweet Pea leaned over the table to speak in a soft tone.

 

“What are you going to do about Tall Boy selling JJ?”  

 

Betty felt the anxiety descend with a vengeance at Sweet Pea’s question. Tall Boy was selling JJ and Sweet Pea expected Jughead to take care of it.  Sweet Pea wanted Jughead to take on Tall Boy and his drug running. It was bad enough that Jughead was somewhat challenging Malachi’s drug empire, but Tall Boy’s, too?  Somehow, that seemed more dangerous than staving off the wrath of a rival gang.

 

She turned to Jughead, fixing him with a questioning and worried look. She had so many questions right now, but she felt that if she asked them, she wasn’t going to get a straight answer. Not in front of Toni and Sweet Pea.

 

Jughead, seeing her expression, sighed, shooting Sweet Pea what looked like an exasperated glare. “I need you to gather the crew and find out exactly what Tall Boy is doing, where he’s distributing, and through whom. If he makes the stuff or if someone is supplying him with it. I need to know what’s true and what isn’t before I can figure out what to do.”

 

Sweet Pea nodded. “I’ll have something for you in three days.”

 

Jughead nodded. “Toni, keep an ear out for any news on Malachi. If anything comes up, text me. If it’s urgent, you call. Gimme your phone.”

 

She handed her phone over and Jughead punched his number into her contacts.

 

Toni nodded, taking her phone. She sent a text and both Jughead’s and Sweet Pea’s phones gave its telltale ding.

 

“I will text you when a race comes up,” Jughead said. “We all clear on what’s gotta be done?”

 

“Crystal,” Toni replied. “God, we miss you. All efficient and shit. Sweet Pea takes forever to make plans.”

 

“Hey! Ya’ll are alive, aren’t you?”

 

Jughead asked for the check as the server passed by. “Sweet Pea’s been holding his own pretty well.”

 

“And how do you know that?” Toni asked in a challenging tone.

 

“Didn’t hear a peep from him the last few years, that’s why,” Jughead replied. “Look, Betty and I have to bounce. You guys can stay here if you like.” He counted out some bills and put it on the table. Betty slid out of the booth, her mind too preoccupied to contribute anything worthy to the discussion.

 

“We’ll stick around for a bit and make some calls,” Toni said, pushing Sweet Pea out, presumably so they can both give Jughead a proper goodbye.

 

There was hugging and back thumping, and when Toni looked at Betty, she was smiling.

 

“It was nice meeting you, Betty,” Toni said. “Wish it were under better circumstances.”

 

“Yeah,” Betty said, her mind too filled with worry to even fall back on her most standard Cooper niceties. “Likewise.”

 

“Later, Betty,” Sweet Pea said, saluting her again.

 

She nodded and let Jughead lead her out, his arm over her shoulders.

 

***************

 

For a while, they didn’t say anything.

 

They walked down the sidewalk, hand in hand, but in total silence. They walked past stores and restaurants, then found themselves descending the steps of Morningside Park. It was early enough that it was relatively quiet, and they gravitated towards the side of the staircase, towards the stone balustrades, where they could overlook the park from their vantage point and they could talk without having to worry about people stopping to listen.

 

Betty wasn’t sure she had the words for what just happened in the diner.

 

It wasn’t that she didn’t know he had that side to him. She did, and she desired it, but it was one thing to know he stole cars. It was another knowing that he was fighting some silent war against a couple of drug lords, however minor they were.

 

Drugs were different. Drugs signalled real danger. And she didn’t care how experienced he sounded in that diner, telling his troops what to do. When drugs were involved, people got killed.

 

And she put him in _this_ situation.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling that sharp sting in her eyes that always told her the tears were coming. She blinked them back, effectively stopping them.

 

“What?” he asked, surprised.

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, blinking harder. The sting was quite bad now. She didn’t know if she could stop this tide. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

 

She felt the first rivulets flow down her cheeks and wiped them away hastily. She didn’t want Jughead to see her crying.

 

“That is _not_ true, Betts,” he said, softly, pulling her in his arms, letting her bury her face in his chest.

 

The tears were falling unhampered now, and while she managed to stave off the sobbing, her breath trembled. She closed her eyes and burrowed into his embrace.

 

“I’m so scared for you, Jug,” she whispered. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you in the first place. This is—“

 

He shushed her, quietly. “I thought we were past all that. No secrets, remember?”

 

They didn’t exactly tell each other that, but the way they carried on, they really did have no secrets.

 

“Betty, why do you think the Serpents and the Ghoulies have been fighting for years?” he asked, softly. “It’s been a never ending battle for turf. Our basecamps may be at Newark, but the Serpents have covered the tri-state area for years. My dad made damn sure that if the Ghoulies wanted to distribute their drugs, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Dad didn’t want drugs poisoning the kids, so he stopped it at the source, but with dad gone and Tall Boy having ambitions of his own, Malachi’s kind of been having a field day. Sooner or later, Toni and Sweet Pea would’ve sought me out. This was inevitable.”

 

“Juggie, isn’t that what the cops are for?” she asked. “Chic’s with the DEA, maybe—“

 

“Betts,” he interrupted softly. “The Feds haven’t cared in years. They go after the big guys, the drug lords who ship billions in drugs. The likes of Malachi are small potatoes and we’ve had to deal with him ourselves. It would be nice, yeah? If the cops put a stop to him, but it’ll be a few years yet before Malachi appears on the radar of the FBI.”

 

She sighed and took out her phone so she could show him something. _Now_ the spiral was happening. “I have this app on my phone. Chic told me to download it. It’s not publicly up in the App Store because it’s FBI/NSA proprietary software. He sent this to me and all his family to put in our phones.”

 

She showed him the app. It looked like a tiny radar, plain and inelegant. “None of us can use it. None of us can turn it on or off. Its sole purpose is to work if, or when, we get abducted by the cartels. It will at least tell Chic our last known location, alive or dead. Even Chic has to get a court order to access the information this app has on me, but the moment that court order is issued, a billion dollar system of electronics will be deployed to find us, preferably alive. The reason why we have these measures is because this has happened before. The DEA and their family are in constant danger and all it takes is for the cartels to ID Chic and it’s game over. The point being, this paranoia I have for the drug business comes from this reality Chic has us in.”  She pressed her hands to his chest, panic gripping her heart the more she spoke. “I don’t have resources like this to protect you, Jug. If something happens to you, I will completely lose my shit and I don’t even know what—“

 

“Betty.”

 

She didn’t let him speak. “All I’m saying is that if Malachi is spreading his business out to the tri-state, maybe the likes of Chic ought to know, and then he can deal with Tall Boy sideways—“

 

“Betty,” he said, attempting to get a word in again.  

 

She stopped, and she looked at him. His brows were furrowed and he was searching for something in her eyes, which were probably slightly manic at this point.

 

He took her face in his hands. “Betty, if the FBI starts investigating this, they’re not going to stop with the Ghoulies. They’re going to start looking at all the connections and they’re going to find the Serpents, and then Hans, and then... “

 

_Us._

 

He didn’t need to say it.  She knew where that road lead. Just because Chic was her brother, she had absolutely no control over how far reaching his investigation would take him and the FBI. And the moment it became apparent that this involved her, he would get kicked out of the investigation.

 

Everyone would be going down with this ship.   

 

“Betty,” he said again, more softly. “Let’s see what my crew can find out first, and then we can figure out what to do next.”

 

And there it was again, that reminder that he was falling back into the role of Southside Serpent leader. “Your crew…”

 

There was a pregnant pause. “I asked you at the start if my being in a gang freaked you out and you--you said it didn’t. Has that changed?”

 

She put her hands over his. She remembered that conversation.  He had also told her that as easy as it had been to leave the Serpents behind, it was just as easy to slip back into it. And now it was happening. He was slipping back in, getting into the thick of it.

 

It worried her--the danger it may put him in, but she wasn’t scared _of_ him.

 

He was still Jughead and she wanted to be there for him

 

“Jug, nothing has changed,” she replied, and the words she’d been meaning to speak finally came to the fore. “I love you. I’m going to see this through with you.”

 

The corner of his lip started lifting, and yet his eyes conveyed a bit of disbelief. So tiptoeing, she kissed him, wrapping her arm around his body under his jacket. He pulled her closer, his lips and tongue nursing hers slowly.

 

Everything that was happening at the moment was so big and frightening that she wanted to wrap him in the protective cloak of her feelings. Hadn’t that always been the theme of love stories told? That love can protect against the worst things? Unforgivable curses, unbreakable spells, and angry and petulant deities?

 

“God, I love you,” he breathed, catching her lips in another kiss before she could say a single thing. “I love you so fucking much, Betts.”

 

For several minutes it was just the two of them, kissing passionately on the steps of a picturesque park, trees rustled by a gentle fall wind. Betty didn’t even care that they were in public, all she could think of was Jughead, and how everything else felt like white noise when they were together.

 

When they separated, she looked into his eyes and in spite of all the worried feelings she had, she smiled, and he smiled back, stealing more kisses from her lips.

 

“I’ve never felt this way for anyone,” she confessed. “I knew that first night at the racetrack. I just--I didn’t want to freak you out.”

 

He chuckled, her face still cupped in his hands. “Betty, you had me at ‘you fucking scared me’.”

 

She stared at him, racking her brain for what that meant, and when she remembered that night at the party, seeing him slouched in that chair, reading a book, she recalled her words and her thoughts and everything that drew her to him.  She laughed, and he kissed her again, and again, and she could only let him because it was everything she wanted.

 

******************

 

Jughead’s bed was a double, a tight fit for two people, but only if they weren’t tangled in the sheets like he was with Betty.

 

He might have preferred a bigger bed, but his room was too tiny to accommodate a queen. He wasn’t complaining. He’d had worst. He’d take a tiny double bed, which sometimes had him half falling off in the middle of the night, to the janitor’s closet floor.

 

Betty cuddled closer, her soft blonde hair cascading down her back. He could feel her breasts pressed against his side, and her leg, draped over him, was a welcome weight.

 

“Juggie,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “We are really good at this.”

 

He nodded, pulling her closer by the shoulders and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Yes, we are.”

 

Their exchange at Morningside park had been followed by a calm stroll through the park, back to the practice field, and back on his bike.

 

He drove them to his apartment where they could be alone, and talked about their dreams. Hers writing investigative pieces or features for a generally circulated publication, not necessarily the New York Times. She might write a book about something, probably nonfiction, but it would be something she cared about deeply. His dreams involved writing and publishing a book, too, which was arguably something he had already done, but Jughead looked up to the Neil Gaimans and Margaret Atwoods of the world—writers whose material was so powerful that it changed minds and genres. Movie and TV adaptations of his work wasn’t a bad deal, either.

 

“But I like how they could stay semi-private when they want to,” Jughead had said. “Like their words mean something when they speak up, but they are allowed to turn around and say they won’t talk about their personal lives, mostly because readers don’t care about it.”

 

Betty had laughed, curling up on her seat. “I don’t know. I care about Neil Gaiman and his wife, Amanda Palmer. She’s a brilliantly talented woman who does concerts naked as a bluejay and writes brilliant blog posts.”

 

He grinned, taking her hand across the kitchen table. “I think she fascinates you because she doesn’t give a fuck.”

 

“You know me so well.”

 

It surprised him to realize that he did. He knew her. In the few weeks they’d been together, it felt like they’d known each other for years.

 

When she asked if she could use their shower and so primly invited him to join her, he quieted the practical voice in his head that said their bathroom was way too small for anything other than standing under the shower. After all, he didn’t expect that they would be standing separately for very long.

 

Using that shower with both of them didn’t exactly turn out to be as elegant as they had hoped, and Betty spent most of their time there laughing at their efforts to make it work. In the end, while they did manage to get themselves clean and work themselves up to a state of desperate wanting, they stumbled out of the shower so they could finish it properly and comfortably in bed.

 

It turned out that the relaxing warmth of the water and gentle scents of the soap calmed their desires to a slow burn. It was hot and heavy, but there was no need to hurry and every need to savor the experience. He wanted to look into her eyes as he touched her. He wanted to kiss her as he moved inside her. He wanted to whisper promises in her ear while making her feel so damn good. She smiled into their kisses and met his pace, whispering back words that made him feel like she would be his forever.

 

When they came together, their names were on each other’s lips, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to tell her he loved her.

 

As they lay in bed, basking in this afterglow that felt equal parts familiar and new, she looked at him with a question in her eyes.

 

“What is it?” he asked, twining his fingers with hers.

 

“So tell me about Toni,” she asked, then added. “And Sweet Pea.”

 

He couldn’t help but smirk at this obvious fishing expedition. “Who do you want me to talk about first?”

 

She bit her lip and chuckled. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m an insecure little turd who needs constant validation.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

 

“Yes. Yes, I am lucky as hell.”

 

She pressed a kiss on his cheek for that. “Were you and Toni a thing?”

 

He gave a small shrug. “We were.”

 

“How long were you together?”

 

“Three months in high school.”

 

“First girlfriend?”

 

These rapid fire questions was leading him to believe that she had given this some thought. “Yeah.”

 

“First time?”

 

“For what?”

 

“You _know_ what!”

 

He laughed. “No. No, she was not my first sexual experience. Toni and I didn’t really get _that_ far, but it was a little more than PG-13.”

 

She smiled a little. “So what you had with her was meaningful?”

 

He didn’t know if he should apologize for that or what. “It was. Does that bother you?”

 

She shook her head. “No. I like that you had meaningful relationships, because then I know that you can be with me and say you know what you want.”

 

He rubbed the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “Toni’s one of my best friends. Her and Sweet Pea. We sort of took Fangs under our wing when he got into the gang because he was younger than everyone at the time.”

 

“Always the big brother. Who broke up with who?”

 

It did give him a secret thrill, having Betty so interested in his history with Toni. After all, he’d spent the last few weeks brooding over the guys who constantly seemed to be after her. “Hard to say. She sort of developed feelings for this girl—her name was Ginger, and Toni kind of asked me if we can go on break so she can figure things out. At the time, I was all ‘Fuck, no. I’m not going to wait around for you,’ so she did her thing, I had meaningless, revenge sex with a cute brunette chick from school, and Toni, when she found out, basically told me I was a goddamn jerk and that she couldn’t ever think of us together again after that.”

 

Betty looked mildly sad, even as she giggled softly. “Oh, Juggie…”

 

He shrugged. “I was a dumb seventeen year old in a gang. Those guys, old and young, gave bad advice, or maybe they just thought the whole drama was hilarious and that it would be entertaining to stir trouble between the kids, but both Toni and I are over it. Now she just has one night stands with guys and reserves the real relationships for women.”

 

“Was she really hitting on me or was she just messing with you?”

 

He chuckled. “Toni doesn’t mess with girls’ feelings. Worships them to a fault. So yeah, she likes you, but she just likes to vocalize. She knows we’re together and will respect that.”

 

Betty’s brows furrowed in thought. “I got that… she’s just kidding when she calls me bosslady, right?”

 

Jughead paused at that, choosing his words but realizing there was no other way to say it. “No.”

 

She sighed. “Jug—“

 

“It’s just—it’s a gang thing. They consider me their leader because my decisions kept them alive. They trust me, so the person I’m with—they’ll respect you by default. I mean, they saw how important you are to me.”

 

“Toni doesn’t have to call me that,” she muttered.

 

“I can’t tell her to stop. That’s her choice.”

 

“And Sweet Pea? What’s he going to be like?”

 

Jughead smirked. “He’s hot headed and fearless. He’s always been more an enforcer, but the crew listens to him, so I trusted him to lead when I left. He steps up when he has to, but you saw how he steps back when I’m there. It wasn’t like that at the beginning. During my gang initiation, he beat the shit out of me with brass knuckles. He didn’t like me back then.”

 

Betty looked horrified. “Brass knuckles? Jug, that’s awful!”

 

“I’m over it. He’s over it. I earned his respect. That’s the way with Sweet Pea. You gotta earn it. He’ll watch your back because you’re the boss lady, but he won’t take orders from you necessarily.”

 

She fell silent in careful thought. “Gender preference?”

 

Jughead laughed. “Why are you asking? Gonna fix him up with someone?”

 

“Maybe!”

 

“Women. He likes women.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You weren’t thinking of fixing him up with Kevin, were you?”

 

“Why not? Kevin likes his boys with a side of danger.”

 

It’s funny she said that.

 

He ran his hand down her body under the sheets, seeking the curves and dips of her that he loved. “So do you,” he grumbled, kissing her and sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. All this talk of her being the boss lady was getting him worked up.

 

She was immediately responsive, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs. That alone got him instantly hard. Her need for him to touch her and the way she always seemed to premeditate her seductions got him going like nothing else.

 

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, taking the lobe of his ear between her teeth. “Please.”

 

She never had to beg. Not with him.

 

*****************

 

Sweet Pea said he’d have information for them in three days, so by some instinct, Jughead felt that he and Betty had about three days to pretend that everything was perfectly normal.

 

On day two, Betty texted him to say that Polly was staying with her for a couple of days to visit, and because of that, Chic wanted to spend time with both his sisters in the city.

 

Jughead tried not to think that Chic had somehow coincidentally shown up while things were going down with the Serpents and Ghoulies.

 

Chic was in the FBI, he told himself. He didn’t concern himself with petty gangs in Newark.

 

 **_They want to meet you,_ ** Betty texted.

 

Jughead did have to consciously tell himself that everything was going to be okay, all the while resisting the urge to ask Betty if her brother was going to come to New York to beat the shit out of him and scare him straight.

 

 **_Can’t wait to meet them,_ ** was all he said in return.

 

**_You’ll like them, Juggie. And they’ll love you. I’m so excited._ **

 

When, seated around Jughead’s apartment, he asked Kevin and Veronica about Chic, they had so much to say that was mostly unhelpful to him.

 

Veronica sighed. “Ah, Betty’s brother. I swear to God, my ovaries just explode whenever I see him. My panties get all twisted and I feel tender and--”

 

Betty made a face. “You guys are gross, you know that, don’t you?”

 

Kevin gasped, as if remembering something. He looked at Veronica. “You’ve not seen him in his FBI kevlar, packing a huge semi-automatic, Ronnie.”

 

Jughead could not fathom how his nightmare was Kevin’s fantasy.  

 

“I watched him play basketball with Jason, Kevin. I saw him _sweaty_ ,” Veronica said, as if it were one-up Kevin’s image of Chic.

 

Betty covered her ears and started singing to herself.

 

“It must be weird when your friends talk about your siblings sexually,” Archie said. “Never have to worry about that.”

 

Jughead shot Archie a look. “What do you mean? You got in a fist fight with one of your teammates when he talked about Jellybean’s body parts to your face.”

 

“And since then, nobody dared to do it again. Like I said-- _never have to worry.”_

 

“Alright, I’ll stop,” Kevin said, mildly. “But Chic-- _damn._ I’d totally tap that.”

 

“Preach,” Veronica agreed with pious gravitas.

 

Betty scowled. “Jeez, it’s just Chic. He pees first thing in the morning just like everyone else and he puts too much mayo in his sandwiches. Get a grip.”

 

Jughead thought she was so adorably innocent of his inner turmoil.

 

******************

 

Polly was staying with Betty for a couple of days, so Jughead meets her first.

 

Polly looked like an older version of Betty--gorgeous, but maybe less nerdy, more domestic, with knitting and DIY home hacks. She also had a far more haunted look in her eyes, which made Jughead’s heart constrict--the way Polly looked at her little sister, like Betty was always in danger of breaking, or fading away.

 

One time, Betty stubbed her toe, and Polly was on her like a mother hen, which clearly embarrassed Betty, but she let her sister mother her, because Jughead knew Betty still had that overbearing guilt for _that night._

 

It was almost painful to watch.

 

But Polly was a sweetheart all her own, and Jughead couldn’t help but tamp down the sarcasm he so often traded with strangers and new acquaintances, because she was _nice,_ and was being so because _Betty_ loved him and her sister wanted her to be happy.

 

Jughead was easily comfortable in Polly’s presence. Chic was a different matter.

 

When Jughead saw Chic Murray, it was clear the hype was justified. The dude literally looked like a GQ model. His blonde hair, square jaw, and fit body basically assured that he would forever be ogled by the likes of Veronica and Kevin.

 

Chic was a serious guy, as most law enforcement agents were, but not in a mean way. Whatever coursed through the veins of the Cooper children, it wasn’t their mother’s freak streak. Even Chic, the FBI agent, was relatively nice. Firm, but nice, like a GI Joe character from the 80s cartoon.

 

_“Don’t swim during a thunderstorm, kids!”_

 

_“We didn’t know that could be dangerous, Chic! But now we know!”_

 

_“And knowing is half the battle!”_

 

Jughead imagined the conversation going.

 

When Betty introduced him, Chic shook his hand while staring at him inquisitively. “Jughead’s an unusual name.”

 

Jughead nodded, warily.  “It is. But it’s better than my real name.”

 

Chic turned to Betty, eyebrow arched.

 

She shrugged. “I told you: It’s a mouthful. It’s not as horrible as he thinks, but he has to live with it, so it’s his choice.”

 

Jughead wondered if he had the balls to joke with Chic about looking him up as Jughead Jones, because that’ll turn up results in the system for sure, but he supposed it wasn’t really wise to tell your girlfriend’s FBI brother that he was in the system and probably had some known associations with convicted felons that wasn’t his dad--that is, if Chic hadn’t looked him up already.

 

As it was, Jughead had a distinct feeling that Chic already knew everything about him. It could’ve been that he was imagining things, aware as he was of Chic’s job and his own criminal background, but it almost seemed logical that Chic would check up on the guy his little sister was dating.  It would probably take Chic two seconds to pull up that information.  And honestly, if Jughead had that power, he might do the same for Jellybean.   

 

Chic merely cocked a serene smile. “Betty talks about you all the time. You make her real happy.” He tapped Jughead’s shoulder, rather forcefully. Forceful enough to hurt a bit.

 

Jughead stifled a grimace, and Betty hugged his arm, grinning and oblivious to Chic’s wordless version of, “You hurt her, I’ll kick your ass.”

 

“She makes me happy, too. I’m very lucky,” he said.

 

Betty leaned her head on his shoulder and Jughead put his arm around her, taking comfort in the fact that Betty didn’t look too concerned about her brother meeting him.

 

At lunch, Betty talked animatedly to her brother and sister, telling them about school, Kevin, their friends, and even Jughead’s motorcycle.

 

Jughead tried not to grimace too obviously when Chic said, “Those things are dangerous.”

 

Before Jughead could say anything, Betty had jumped in, asking Chic what interesting cases he had.

 

Chic looked at her askance. “Like I’d tell you anything, you little sneak.  The last time I gave you the tiniest detail, you and Kevin were sneaking into drug dens and bringing me heroin as evidence.”

 

“We were bored, unchallenged teenagers, Chic. We have other better preoccupations now,” Betty huffed.

 

Sometimes Jughead didn’t know if he should be admiring her chutzpah or warning her about getting too cocky.

 

Chic asked him about his book and Jughead gave him a copy from the pile of complimentary books the publisher gave him for his own purposes.

 

“Is it dedicated and signed?” Chic asked, grinning.

 

For a moment, it felt like Chic was actually enjoying this conversation, and Jughead felt a little more in his element. He always did when it came to talking about his books. “Wouldn’t I be a huge douchebag if I presumed?”

 

Betty slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Juggie!”

 

Chic chuckled, mildly. “Well, you’re not wrong. But if I ask you, that’s totally appropriate. Will you?”

 

“Of course.” Jughead took the book, flipped to the title page and fished a pen out of his pocket. He wrote:

 

_“Whatever tape you found in that VCR, it isn’t mine.”_

 

_Signed,_

_F.P. Jones_

 

Chick looked at it, laughed softly, and shook his head. “Did Betty tell you this was my favorite Mulder quote?”

 

“That’s everyone’s favorite Mulder quote,” he replied. He wasn’t sure if Chic was an X-Files fan, but he took a chance. He figured that an FBI agent would find fictional FBI agents investigating aliens fascinating. If Chic was an X-Files fan, it would be a resounding success, if not, then the quote still kind of worked without knowing the reference.

 

Chic pointed at Jughead while giving Polly a look. “He’s smart.”

 

“Betty wouldn’t date him otherwise,” Polly replied.

 

Jughead felt like he scored _a little_ with that one. However cautious he was of Chic, he was glad that Chic was at least making it seem like he was pleased. Polly seemed to like him, too, which would’ve been more than enough, because these were the people Betty loved the most.

 

He gave Betty a secret wink.

 

His inner suspicions did not warrant him transferring that worry to this lovely woman who did not hesitate for a second, introducing him to her siblings.  

 

Betty giggled, leaning and whispering sweet obscenities in his ear.

 

************

 

“He’s hella hot, sis,” Polly told Betty at her apartment. “Like, smoking.”

 

Kevin choked on a laugh. “You tell her, Pol.”

 

Betty had to stifle her grin. She wasn’t the least bit surprised. Jughead _was_ so good looking. She couldn’t get over it, either.

 

“You should see him in a tank,” Kevin said. “He’s got the most amazing arms. I bet that body’s rock hard, Betty.”

 

_“Well…”_

 

Chic, who was on the couch and flipping through channels on their TV, cleared his throat. “I’m sure this is a riveting topic for you, and I don’t want to be a killjoy, but can we talk about something other than Jughead’s body?”

 

Polly rolled her eyes and exchanged smiles with Betty and Kevin.

 

“Well, I like him,” Polly said. “Published writer, funny, and the way he looks at Betty--she means the world to him. What do you think, Chic?”

 

Chic cocked a mild smile. “He makes her happy. I like him, too.”

 

Considering the complications that have arisen the last couple of days because she raced illegally and Jughead was a leader in a gang, Betty felt a little uneasy about how normal Chic’s assessment of Jughead was.

 

However, it was also true that Chic wasn’t a big bullshitter. If Chic didn’t like Jughead, he wouldn’t say he did just for the benefit of Polly and Kevin’s ears.  

 

Chic chose his words well, though. So while Chic may really like Jughead, there might be a huge unspoken BUT in there somewhere.

 

Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to talk Jughead up. “He is _such_ a good guy, Chic. He had a hard start in his life, in case you didn’t know.”

 

Chic’s pause was just a smidgen too long. “Oh, yeah?”

 

Betty eyed him suspiciously.  “Yeah.”

 

“Hard start?” Polly asked.

 

Betty pursed her lips. She just _knew_ Chic had checked up on Jughead, and she didn’t really bother to tell Chic not to. He had checked up on every single guy that he knew had an interest in her and she knew Jughead would be no different.

 

It did give Betty _some_ anxiety. After all, she never knew with Chic when it came to his assessment of danger and his sisters, but she felt the slightest bit optimistic, especially in light of how Chic had said “I like him.”

 

Jughead may have had a tough past, but he had come such a long way since then. That he had come out of that past towards a successful life spoke volumes about his character.  

 

“What do you know, Chic?” Betty asked, finally.

 

Chic gave a tight-lipped smile. “Jughead has a juvie record.”

 

Polly and Kevin gasped. Betty was only mildly surprised that was all he had to say. She knew of this juvie record, of course. Jughead had mentioned it at some point. It happened pre-gang, so he was a lot younger.  

 

“For arson,” Betty grumbled. “I know. He was launching a rocket for a science project and accidentally set the school gym on fire.”

 

“Oh, my God!” Kevin cried. “Did they come down hard on him?”

 

“He was poor, Kevin. Of course they did,” Betty said.

 

Chic nodded. “And his dad was the leader of the Southside Serpents in Newark, so that made it worse.”

 

“Poor Jughead,” Polly sighed.

 

“Which makes him being here all the more remarkable,” Betty said, lest Polly saw him as a charity case. “He also got initiated into that gang when he was fifteen, in case you missed that, Chic. He got out of that all by himself, without his parents watching out for him. He was watching out for his sister the entire time, too.”

 

Chic nodded. “And I respect that. He’s his sister’s legal guardian now, isn’t he?”

 

“Yes. Jellybean lives with him and he provides for everything she needs, just like you did for me and Polly.”

 

Chic shot her a knowing look and Betty smiled back, innocently.

 

“Anything else?” she asked.

 

“Does he still associate with any of the other gang members?”

 

Betty tried to sound as nonchalant as she could.  “You tell me, Chic.”

 

Chic inclined his head, admitting that he checked on that, too. “He visits his father in jail every now and then, but he does so regularly every Thanksgiving with his sister.”

 

Betty had to admit that she was surprised with how thorough Chic was with Jughead. “You didn’t pull the stops on this one, did you?”

 

“I could tell by how much you talked about him that he was special,” Chic said. “I didn’t want there to be any surprises.”

 

Betty frowned, determined to communicate how she did not approve of this, even if she could do nothing about stopping it. “I’m going to stick with him whether you liked him or not, Chic.”

 

“I know. I think he’s a good guy. I think he cares about you a lot. I hope you’ll always be this happy.”

 

Betty arched an eyebrow. Again she noted how his statements still left room for that BUT.

 

Chic’s opinion mattered a lot, but Betty wasn’t lying when she said she’d stick with Jughead no matter what Chic said. Her big brother’s approval meant the world to her, but it wasn’t going to control her life.

 

So when Polly and Kevin turned in and she was left with Chic, she was a little nervous about “the talk.” It was one thing to be talking about Jughead in front of everybody, but alone with Chic--this would be the “real” discussion.

 

She gave Chic a beer and she poured herself some wine.

 

“I shouldn’t let you drink that,” Chic said.

 

Betty scoffed, pinching the stem of the wine glass. “It’s just wine.”

 

He cocked a smile as he settled more comfortably on his seat at the kitchen table. “So, Jughead… I do like him. What he’s done with himself after all those challenges in his life--it’s a testament to his character. I respect that, and talking to him, he sounds like a nice guy. How he got through the first half of his life in one piece, I don’t know. Nice guys like him don’t usually make it.”

 

“He’s tougher than he looks,” she said, carefully. “He’s told me everything about him, even the stuff he had to do for his gang. He and I have no secrets.”

 

Chic nodded. “I saw all the tapes of his prison visits. Got a lip reader to figure out their conversations. They mostly talked about school, Jellybean, his drug addicted mom, Archie and his dad, and a few gang-related things like who's gone to jail, who’s dead, who got out of jail…”

 

None of this was acceptable, but the lip-reading was a whole new level of inappropriate. “Jesus, Chic, really?”

 

Chic smirked, only mildly contrite. “He’s dating my little sister. Seriously. I had to know. I had to be sure.”

 

“Do I have to tell him that someone’s always watching?”

 

Chic put up his hand. “You can tell him I checked up on him but I promise it won’t happen again. Cross my heart.”

 

She sighed and shook her head. It still made her mad--Chic doing background checks on her boyfriends. On Jughead, especially, but she was done having fights with Chic about it, and she’d long resigned herself to the fact that Chic does it because he’s afraid that the wrong guy can drive her to the dark places in her mind, a place where she found it okay to cut a razor through her skin. She didn’t quite know for sure whether she would ever go back there again. She had vowed not to, but she didn’t quite trust her mind yet that it would keep its promises, so why should she expect Chic to?

 

“I really love him, Chic,” she said, quietly, as if saying it the slightest bit louder would make it the ravings of a mad woman.

 

“I know, kid. I can tell. Does he know everything about you? About your mom and…” A haunted look crossed his face and she knew he was talking about the night of her suicide. He still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

 

Betty nodded. “He knows everything about me. Every single thing. And he’s still sticking around.” She said that last part with a small laugh, but it meant the world to her that Jughead hadn’t run away.

 

“That’s a plus, sticking around,” Chic said, to humor her, no doubt. “I know you hate it when I check up on your boyfriends but after what you’ve been through, I can’t risk some dude messing with you. You’re doing so well, Betts.”

 

She nodded. “I know. And I feel like for the first time I’m really coming into my own, figuring out what I want instead of what mom-- _Alice_ wanted.”

 

Chic smiled and squeezed Betty’s shoulder. “That’s always been what I wanted for you. I’m happy for you, kid. And you can tell Jughead he’s FBI approved.”

 

Considering everything that’s been happening, she wasn’t sure how she was going to tell Jughead _that_.  

 

**********************

 

_Hans0to60: FLB, Q. You in @HardtoGet?_

 

_…..._

 

_HardtoGet: I’m in._

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I thought looking at someone with heart eyes was something we writers imagined people in love did. To see that look of love captured on video... it's beautiful to watch.


	12. Love Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Jughead leads the pack and Betty watches it with fascination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things to note:  
> 1\. If you want my thoughts on the last episode, read my notes at the bottom.  
> 2\. There's a section in this chapter that was inspired by coatlicue's [Support Group for the Romantically Challenged](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11555193/chapters/25952028) fic, which is an excellent piece of work that you should probably check out.  
> 3\. I am inspired daily by so many great writers on these boards, and I try to let you know every time you put out a chapter with my loving reviews. I assure you that when I write those reviews, I cannot fully express how much and why I love your works. I try to express them, but I always feel my words are not enough. Seriously, there are REALLY talented writers in this little space we have and I hope you know it, at least the moment I tell you in the comments.

 

Time is never time at all

You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth

And our lives are forever changed

We will never be the same

The more you change the less you feel

Believe, believe in me, believe

That life can change, that you're not stuck in vain

We're not the same, we're different tonight

Tonight, so bright

Tonight

-Tonight, Tonight by Smashing Pumpkins

 

 

Jughead Jones, once famed Southside Serpent prince, son of FP Jones II, and rumored most prolific car jacker that side of Jersey, was reading _The Book of Mirrors,_ by E.O. Chirovici as he waited for the Southside Serpents to arrive at Betty’s storage facility.

 

Like two worlds in flux, he sought to put a balance between his past and present. He did not have to give up one to be the other. His past made him what he was now. His present is better because of the things he experienced before. If he wanted this to be true, he had to be vigilant. He had to keep his mind from wandering too far back, anchoring it with novels, reading and writing them.

 

When Betty texted him that evening that there was a race at Francis Lewis boulevard in Queens, Jughead immediately called Toni, telling her that the meeting point was at Betty’s garage.  Then he called Sweet Pea, asking him about what Tall Boy had said about the races.  

 

“Tall Boy’s pissed,” Sweet Pea had said, bluntly. “He doesn’t like that you’ve come down from your perch to slither with the Serpents again, and that so many of the younger crew just up and answered your call. He’s suspicious of your intentions, J. He thinks you’re trying to wrestle power from him for one reason or another.”

 

Jughead had sighed. “What else did he say? Did he give his blessing for the Serpents to roll tonight?”

 

“Fuck, yeah,” Sweet Pea replied. “He had no choice. I hit him with the old ‘In unity, there’s strength’ and I told him that we had to show Malachi that he couldn’t disrespect you like that.”

 

Jughead couldn’t help but chuckle. “Wow, Sweet Pea. And you didn’t even have to throw a punch. You’ve come a long way, man.”

 

“You taught me that,” Sweet Pea said, simply. “I’ll see you later at the meeting point.”

 

Jughead had gone ahead to the storage facility so he can meet the Serpents before Betty could get there. She would have to take an Uber to get there, but she understood how important this was, even going so far as to cheerfully say that it was always how she used to get there anyway.

 

It was warm enough that his jacket felt heavy on his shoulders, or maybe it was the weight of baggage the jacket brought with it. He’s worn the jacket in the past in social occasions, but it didn’t feel so much like armor then.

 

He didn’t have long to wait. Soon enough he heard the telltale rumble of motorcycles, growing louder as the seconds ticked by.

 

Eight Harleys came rolling through, led by Sweet Pea, Toni, and much to Jughead’s disappointment, Fangs. He had specifically told Toni not to include him. Then again, wasn’t that the sort of treatment he resented them for after he went off on his book tour and then when he left for college?

 

Stifling a sigh, he stood to meet them all, greeting them one by one, arm on arm, shoulder to shoulder. Eight all-together. He greeted Fangs last.

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Fogarty,” Jughead said, shooting Toni a quick glare.

 

She shrugged, her look conveying abject resignation.

 

“I heard you were back and I just had to be here,” Fangs said, his chin jutting stubbornly. “For you.”

 

Jughead just shook his head slightly, getting back on his bike to lead them all through the gates. They rolled in, and Jughead led them to the gravelly space just outside the unit.

 

When they got there, Jughead gave them some background information and instructed them on what had to be done. Then he reinforced it with an order.

 

“I don’t want trouble,” Jughead said, pointedly. “No fighting. No monkey business. You can engage while you’re there, but keep it clean, and when Betty rolls out of there, you roll out with us, got it?”

 

There were nods all around.  They understood. This was just a show of strength. A means to convey to Malachi that Jughead still had the support of the Serpents, and whatever he was thinking of doing, he’d best think twice.

 

Jughead hoped he didn’t have to call the Serpents all the time for this. Hopefully, once or twice would be enough.

 

When everyone was clear on what needed to be done, Jughead found himself surrounded by Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs.

 

Sweet Pea stuck a piece of gum in his mouth and offered a sliver to Jughead, who declined.

 

“What I would give for a cigarette right now,” Jughead muttered.

 

“How long since you quit?” Toni asked.

 

“I’m going on three years now.”

 

Sweet Pea seemed impressed. “Hey, good for you, man. That stuff can kill you.”

 

Jughead shot him a _look. “I know._ Archie never let me forget it.”

 

“Archie, eh? Betty didn’t get on your case for it?”

 

“I wasn’t smoking anymore by the time I met Betty. She doesn’t know I had the habit. Probably won’t tell her…”

 

“Yeah, we don’t want Betty knowing your bad habits.”

 

Jughead scowled.

 

“He’s whipped, Sweet Pea,” Toni said. “Deal with it.”

 

“Maybe if you went back to school, you’ll get a classy lady like her,” Fangs said, quietly. He wasn’t kidding. He rarely ever was.

 

“This jerk,” Toni muttered, punching Fangs’s shoulder.

 

Jughead scoffed mildly. “It’s not a bad idea, Topaz. You got the chops. You had good grades and decent extra curriculars. Why not try it?”

 

“If I do that, no one's going to keep this lunkhead out of trouble,” she said, lifting a chin in Sweet Pea’s direction.

 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. “I don’t need looking after.”

 

Jughead believed him. Sweet Pea was never the intellectual giant of this operation, but he was sharp, and his street smarts have been honed by experience.

 

“Whatcha studying, Fangs?”  Jughead asked. “Heard you were going to the community college.”

 

Fangs smirk. “Graphic arts. I want to draw cartoons. Maybe some day work for Disney Studios or some shit like that.

 

Jughead gave him a nod of approval. “I like it, man. It’s a real goal that’ll get you out of Newark.” He looked at Toni. “I’m serious, Toni. Go get your degree. You can’t rely on the Serpents forever.”

 

“Why not? Sweet Pea will.”

 

“Hell, no,” Sweet Pea said. “The moment I get a chance to put up my own chop shop, I’m gonna leave old Peabody’s junk establishment and make it on my own. I’ll hire interesting people to work for me and we’ll be in a reality show and shit.”

 

They laughed, collectively amused by the idea of Sweet Pea being in a reality show.

 

Jughead was just glad to hear that Sweet Pea and Fangs were making plans to get out. That was the kind of thing he had envisioned for the Southsiders before—to help members follow their dreams and to be able to get them all into a legitimate trade. That is, when he wasn’t stealing cars.

 

But even while he was carjacking, he always wondered how he can turn the Southside Serpents back into an actual organization that helped its members out, not mire them deeper into their awful situations.

 

It could be done, but not if Tall Boy kept Serpents dependent on the income of illegal activity, like drug dealing.

 

Jughead heard the sound of a car crunching through the gravel. He knew it was Betty and he couldn’t help but turn to watch her arrive.

 

The Uber stopped and when Betty stepped out, Jughead’s mouth went dry. Stunned as he was by the vision that was Betty Cooper.

 

Sweet Pea’s jaw dropped. “Oh, fuck.”

 

“Thank you, Jesus,” Toni said.

 

Her dress was green. Serpent green, with a plunging halter top, a body clinging fit, and a skirt with a slit that showed a generous amount of leg on one side. Her golden high heeled shoes matched the subtle smattering film of gold powder on her skin. Her hair was tied up in a long, swishy, Grecian ponytail, but most distinctly was the golden snake armband that curled around her upper arm. _None_ of it was subtle, but that’s what got Jughead’s heart racing.

 

She wasn’t ashamed to be with the Serpents _at all._

 

A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips as she walked up to him with all the confidence of a woman who knew her man wanted her.

 

He always thought that the Betty on this side of town was bolder and unapologetic. It was facet of her that he wished she felt comfortable showing all the time, but he knew what she’d been through, knew the demons she fought. If she only got to show this side of her on a given situation that _she_ had complete control of, then—as the case was, he was going to let her drive.

 

She greeted him with an unhurried kiss, and at this point he was still too spellbound to think about the eight bikers behind him watching all this happen. She smelled _great,_ too. Like sweet flowers with a hint of citrus. He was already thinking up all the ways he was going to appreciate all of her later, when they were alone.

 

She was still tantalizingly close when she said, “Like what you see?”

 

He let a breath out through his lips, touching the serpent on her arm. “You look incredible.”

 

She smirked, finally breaking her gaze from his to turn to his friends. “Hey, Toni. Hi, Sweet Pea. And…” She gave Fangs a friendly but curious look. “You must be Fangs Fogarty. I’m Betty Cooper.” She extended him her hand.

 

Fangs blushed to his roots, eyeing her hand like he was afraid to touch it.

 

When he didn’t shake it, Betty exchanged uncomfortable looks with Toni, beginning to pull her hand back.

 

Toni, rolling her eyes, kicked the side of Fangs’s leg.

 

“Y-Yes,” Fangs finally said, scrambling forward to shake Betty’s hand in an obviously limp shake. “Th-That’s me. Yeah.”

 

“You sure about that?” Sweet Pea asked.

 

Fangs shot Sweet Pea a glare.

 

“Go easy on him,” Jughead said, nudging Sweet Pea’s shoulder with the back of his hand. He draped his arm over Betty’s shoulder. “C’mon, babe. I’ll introduce you to the rest.”

 

“I like this look on you, Bosslady,” Toni remarked as they made their way to the others. “You should go with it more often.”

 

Of course Toni, who had no filter, said out loud what Jughead was thinking.

 

Betty smirked. “I don’t think Columbia’s ready for _this.”_

 

Toni laughed and Sweet Pea actually flashed a toothy grin.

 

Jughead chuckled. Betty was probably right.

 

***********

 

Francis Lewis boulevard in Queens was a slightly curving strip of road lined with picturesque trees, apartment buildings, quaint residential houses, mom and pop establishments, schools, churches, and sleepy intersections.

 

On regular nights, the streets were quiet and the cars of its residents were parked along the curb. Most nights of the year, residents went to bed appreciating the serene sounds of gently passing vehicles and the occasional bark of a dog.

 

Tonight, the quiet was completely shattered.  

 

Engines revved and music blared.  The sidewalks were lined with spectators and party goers, and the smell of rubber, oil, and weed permeated the air.  Drugs changed hands with money, alcohol was free-flowing, and gambling was the number one topic of conversation.

 

As Betty rolled into the strip, she was distinctly aware of the constant rumble of motorcycles behind her. It still shocked her that eight bikers altogether showed up for Jughead, and if Betty heard it correctly, these were just the ones Toni allowed to come. More had wanted to tag along, but apparently Jughead thought that more than eight was too much. They weren’t picking for a fight, this was just so the news would reach Malachi’s ears—Jughead may have left the Serpents for a bit, but the Serpents never left him.

 

“The Serpents know what this is,” Jughead explained to her. “And I don’t want to antagonize Hans, either. So eight’s a good number. Those who were made to stay home understand.”

 

They did what he said. They called him boss. They called her _ma’am_ first until she told them to call her Betty. They only did when they heard Sweet Pea call her by her name.

 

Of course, everyone had admired her car. Sweet Pea, especially, was impressed. He worked at an auto body shop, repairing dents, most days, but he’d done his share of big creative projects. He knew a thing or two about souped up cars.

 

“Sweet ride, Betty,” he had said when he looked under the hood. “Who did your body work?”

 

“Some guy who came highly recommended. Cost me an arm and a leg.”

 

“You ever need a body repair or want to make this even prettier, let me know. I’ll hook you up. Man, the things we can do with this beauty. And just look at that engine!” He looked enamored with the car, and Betty felt pleased by his approval.

 

It was interesting, having this feeling of belonging with these new acquaintances. When it was just her and Kevin, they never opened themselves up to the people at the races. She never took the opportunity to have groups hang around her car, look under her hood, and talk about her engines and the body work. She went to the events, raced, then left.

 

With the Serpents, she felt free to express herself and speak of things she never dared speak of to a group before.

 

It was probably a glimpse of what Jughead felt when he was around them growing up. She was sure he loved Archie like a brother, but these guys completely understood his struggles: his poverty, his tragic home life, and his _otherness_ in a way that Archie, through no fault of his own, couldn’t totally fathom.

 

Jughead went with them for the same reasons Betty raced; with the Serpents, he didn’t have to worry if his darker self was too much.

 

As she drove down Francis Lewis boulevard, the roar of motorcycles behind her, she felt completely in her element.

 

“You okay?” Jughead asked her.

 

She gave him a half smile. “Yes. I was just thinking that this feels…”

 

“What?”

 

“Like I’m invincible.”

 

Jughead chuckled, rubbing her shoulder. “Yeah. That’s what it feels like.”

 

He didn’t even have to explain. She knew what he meant just as much as he knew what she meant.

 

This is what being in a gang felt like. It was like being in the front lines of an ancient battlefield, the roar of warriors behind you. It was primal. A rush of adrenaline. It could carry you through the terror of having to fight a wild enemy.

 

She wished she didn’t like it so much.

 

She found a spot that could accommodate her car and the bikers behind her. It was easy enough. People parted to let her and the Serpents through.

 

She and Jughead got out of the car.

 

On cue, Hans sauntered up to them, only this time, he had his own gang behind him. Hans flashed them a friendly smile, but there was an unmistakable hint of tension in his shoulders.

 

“Look here! You brought the entire posse!” Hans cried, arms wide open. “The Southside Serpents at my races!”

 

He shook Jughead’s hand and then gave Betty a welcoming embrace.

 

“To what do I owe this honor, Your Highness?” Hans asked Jughead as he stepped back into his ranks.

 

Betty saw Jughead flinch at the title.

 

“They’re just here for Betty,” Jughead said, draping his arm over her shoulders. She felt his fingers tracing the outline of her serpent armband. He’d been doing that. He liked this piece of jewelry.

 

_He likes that it marks you as his._

 

Intellectually, she should be resistant to this idea, but nothing about all this was progressive. Gangs and intimidation were very primal and _male._ However strong her feminism was—or maybe because of it, she could admit to herself that this unspoken possessive streak turned her wheels tonight.

 

“They’re here to have fun,” Jughead continued. “I’ll keep them in line.” He looked over his shoulder and tilted his head slightly.

 

Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs came forward and Jughead introduced them to Hans.

 

Hans seemed to relax after that, acknowledging the courtesy Jughead was extending to him.

 

“You and you, I’ve heard about,” Hans said, pointing to Toni and Sweet Pea.

 

“Good things, I hope,” Toni remarked.

 

Hans put his hands up. “Impressive things, all. Where’s Tall Boy?”

 

Betty did not miss the actual question there, which was: Did Tall Boy know they were here?

 

“At home watching Dancing With the Stars like any respectable senior citizen,” Sweet Pea said with a straight face. “He said he was too old for this.”

 

Hans laughed. Everyone knew that Sweet Pea was kidding. Tall Boy was in no way sitting around watching reality TV, but Sweet Pea’s answer got the message across. Tall Boy knew.

 

“Alright,” Hans said. “Well, enjoy the festivities. I have some drinks for my guests over at my side of the track. Help yourselves. And if I see any Ghoulies, should I call you?”

 

“You see any Ghoulies, you tell them we’re here and give them a running start,” Jughead said.

 

Hans laughed again and gave Betty a fond smile. “You never disappoint, Betty. Always bringing us something to talk about long after the races.”

 

That was, Betty thought, after all the point.

 

“It’s what I do,” Betty replied. “Who am I racing, chief? I need to put on a good show for my friends.”

 

Hans nodded, and pointed to a group of guys across the street, all of them towering giants with platinum blonde hair. Their aesthetic leaned steampunk and when one of them caught her staring, he blew her a kiss.

 

She made a face. “It’s a couple of weeks yet before Halloween, Hans. Why are they in costume?”

 

Hans chuckled. “You better beat their asses, princess. I’m betting heavily on _you_ tonight. They’ve called themselves _aryans_ on occasion, if you get my drift.”

 

“Ugh, they’re _that,”_ she moaned, her lip twisted in disgust.

 

“They’re also legacy drivers,” Hans explained. “Come down from a long line of street racers. You got Magnus and Lars tonight and they _nasty_ trash talkers. Straight up, they’ll use racist and sexist slurs. Don’t let them get to you.”

 

“God, why do you let them race here?”

 

Hans chuckled, rubbing his thumb against his fingers.

 

_Of course._

 

Betty handed over her pot money and Hans took it.

 

“Be ready to race in 15 minutes,” Hans said as he walked away.

 

As Hans left, Jughead eyed her opponents across the street.

 

“Do you think they’ll come over here?” he asked.

 

Betty scoffed. “Doubt it.  They’ll want nothing to do with us.”  

 

Toni snorted. “Wish they would. I wanna mess with their heads.”

 

They were a diverse group, and the likes of Magnus and Lars probably didn’t want to associate with them.  

 

“I think you should get to the starting line,” Fangs said, checking his watch.

 

“Yeah, probably,” Betty said, tearing herself from Jughead to get into her car..

 

Jughead got into the passenger’s seat. “Here’s a thought. If you want to mess with their heads, maybe you and Toni should ride together.”

 

Betty was impressed by how inspired that was. “If Toni doesn’t mind, I don’t mind.”

 

Sweet Pea peered into her window. “We’ll see you at the finish line. Putting all my money on you, lady. You better win this or I’ll be out for rent the next couple of months.”

 

“I’ve got you, Sweet Pea,” she said, smirking.

 

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” Jughead said. “Think you can call Toni over here?”

 

Sweet Pea nodded and tapped the roof of her car to signal he was on it.

 

Betty turned back to Jughead as she heard Sweet Pea calling Toni over. “Do you think this is going to work, Jug?”

 

Jughead nodded. “Having two women sitting in this car, one of which is a person of color? Hell, yeah.”

 

“No, I mean--this whole thing. With Malachi.”

 

His eyebrow arched at that, but his tone became more cautious. “It’ll work. What he does about it will at least be more measured than just putting a hit out on us.”

 

He said that so offhandedly that she almost forgot that hiring people to kill other people was not normal.

 

She tried to shake off her feelings of worry. “And Tall Boy? What does he think about you riding in here with the Serpents?” She didn’t know why Tall Boy bothered her more than Malachi. Maybe it was because Tall Boy had the power to draw Jughead back in deeper. To strand Jughead back into the snake pit.

 

Jughead rubbed her shoulder. “Hey, hey...” he said, soothingly. And she realized she was gripping her steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were sharp and white.

 

“Don’t worry about Tall Boy,” Jughead said. “He’s fine. He knows it’s all for show. He knows I’m more concerned about submitting papers on time than I am about leading the crew again.”

 

She tried to let the warmth from his hand spread through her, but the worry must have been etched on her face, because he leaned over the console and kissed her. The velvet massage of his tongue managed to ease the tension from her body, and by the time he was done, she was boneless and smiling.

 

“Hey, Bossman,” came Toni’s voice from behind her.  “Sweet Pea said you asked for me.”

 

Jughead cocked a smile. “Wanna piss off Magnus and Lars?”

 

“Fuck, yeah.”

 

“Then switch with Jughead,” Betty said. “You’re riding with me, tonight.”

 

*******************

 

Just as they expected, Magnus and Lars looked furious at the sight of Betty and Toni sitting in a racecar.

 

At the starting lineup, Betty and Toni waved at them flirtily, which caused the two men to spew an endless torrent of gender and racial insults.

 

Betty was having none of it.  She leaned an arm over her car window and said, “You and your boy are going to have to live with the fact that women are going to smoke you on that track and a person of color is going to give us all. Your. _Money.”_

 

“Boom!” Toni cried, laughing.  “Looks like you need some burn cream, broflakes.”

 

Magnus was, quite possibly, out-of-his mind furious at them, screaming at the flagman to start the fucking race already.

 

When the race started, Betty’s focus was instantly razor sharp.

 

The track was straightforward, narrow, and from point A to B. It was a long stretch, and Magnus’s Mustang was fast and powerful, but Betty was skilled and smart. She owned this circuit and she was determined to win.

 

She was fearless, but also disciplined. The race was close to the last stretch, but at the last quarter mile she pulled ahead, winning the race with Magnus hot on her fender.

 

When their cars came to a stop, Toni gave a triumphant whoop.

 

“You are _amazing!”_ Toni cried.

 

Betty beamed, pleased by Toni’s praise.  “Come on, girl. Time to get our prize.”

 

Hans met them at the line, giving her a victorious embrace and a fat envelope for both her and this time, Toni, who was pleasantly surprised by the windfall.  Jughead was right behind him, giving her a hug that lifted her off the ground.  

 

It was then that Magnus stormed out of his vehicle. He was furious, claiming that there were more cars parked on his side of the track, causing distraction, which cost him the race.

 

When his own entourage tried to quiet him down, it enraged him even more, and he made the mistake of advancing towards Betty and Toni.

 

She had never seen so much hate coming off a person’s eyes. He looked like he blamed her and Toni for _everything_ , and he was spewing the worst names he could call them.

 

Before Betty could react, Jughead had pushed her behind him and Magnus found himself staring down the wall that was Sweet Pea and his very volatile temper.

 

Sweet Pea planted his hands on Magnus’s chest with explosive force, with an apropos, “Stay in your lane, boy!”

 

The Serpents and Magnus’s people surged dangerously close together in the growing scuffle, and Toni had to hold Betty back when Jughead took to the front lines to calm the Serpents down.

 

“Let me go, Toni!” she cried, struggling.

 

Toni held her firmly. “Jughead knows how to do this, Sunshine. You go there, he’ll have to worry about you, too.”

 

Betty watched helplessly as Jughead pushed back Magnus while controlling Sweet Pea and the rest of his gang. The Serpents were easy enough, because they respected Jughead, but Magnus and his cronies had no reason to listen to him.

 

Jughead had to grab Magnus by the collar of his jacket and shove him back forcefully amidst Magnus’s blizzard of racial epithets. Magnus stumbled back and Jughead stood over him, a dark and dangerous expression on his face.

 

It was at that point Hans’s crew got between them and finally put an end to the skirmish. Magnus and his gang fell back, not wanting to get into a scuffle with the Serpents, after all.

 

It was almost shocking how not a single punch was thrown.

 

When the crowd had settled down and everyone’s mood picked back up, Hans unhesitantly shook Jughead’s hand and took him into a friendly embrace, grinning as he said something that had Jughead nodding, then easily herding the Serpents back.

 

Toni finally let her go and she went to Jughead, her hands cupping his face as she examined him worriedly for any sign that he was hurt.

 

“I’m okay,” he said, softly. He had to repeat it several times before she let herself believe him.

 

Only when she was certain did she turn to Toni. “Everyone else okay? How’s Sweet Pea?”

 

Toni scoffed. “You worried about this idiot over here?” She shoved Sweet Pea, who cocked a grin.

 

“That was nothing,” Sweet Pea said, chuckling. “It’s what I do. Besides, because of you, I’ll be making rent the next few months.”

 

“That dude was headed right for us,” Toni told her. “What the fuck did he think he was gonna do?”

 

“Hans would’ve never let him touch us,” Betty said.

 

“Hans wasn’t fast enough,” Fangs pointed out.

 

She sighed, realizing that Fangs was right and that Sweet Pea had been there first to protect them. She cast Sweet Pea a grateful smile, intending to thank him, but before she could say anything, he arched an eyebrow, as if anticipating what she was going to say, and turned away in a huff.

 

_Boy, these Serpents are tough._

 

“You alright?” Jughead asked her in a voice only she could hear.

 

She nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be? There were nine Serpents between me and that guy. I’m just glad nobody got hurt. That _you_ didn’t get hurt.” She looked at him with anxious eyes. “That was dangerous, Juggie. They could’ve had weapons.”

 

Jughead swept her ponytail off her shoulder and gently massaged the curve of her neck. “I thought you liked me reckless.”

 

“No,” she whined, softly, in perhaps the most unconvincing voice. She remembered how he stood over Magnus, how the expression on Jughead’s face had transformed him enough to keep Magnus frozen in his gaze. Her heart beat faster at the memory, and she wished for a moment that she weren’t so excited for it, but it was difficult to resist, because the danger had passed.

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he whispered, pulling her to him for a kiss.

 

Her protest died at the press of his lips and the tangling of their tongues. Even out here in the open, her body felt like it was on fire. She had to resist every urge to moan.

 

“Get a room!” Toni cried, effectively cutting through her haze of desire.

 

Betty pulled away, feeling her face grow impossibly warm. Jughead however, was smiling, unembarrassed.

 

“And I’m not just trying to be a killjoy,” Toni said. “Three o’clock. Ghoulie alert. He’s creeping and alone, but I recognize him. He’ll report everything he saw here tonight to Malachi.”

 

“Good,” Jughead said. “It’s what we wanted.”

 

Betty felt a mild sense of relief. One problem down, right? “Let’s go home, Juggie.”

 

He nodded and exchanged a look with Toni.

 

Whatever it meant, she seemed to understand it. With a resolute look on her face, she turned and said, “Serpents! Let’s motor!”

 

Betty and Jughead got into her car and all together, they rolled out of Queens.

 

******************

 

Jughead’s fingers were tracing the snake on her arm again, even as his tongue swirled into her mouth, even as his other hand pushed up her skirt and crept up her thighs.

 

Betty pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around him as she feverishly pushed off his Serpents jacket and flannel blouse.

 

“God, Betts,” he whispered hoarsely, his fingers slipping under the fabric of her panties to touch her. “I don’t know what it is about this armband… you’re so wet, baby.”

 

She moaned as his fingers dipped inside her, her back arching. “You know why,” she said, her breath going heavy as he began to press circles around her clit.

 

It didn’t take long for him to make her come. This wasn’t the first time tonight, either.

 

When they arrived at Betty’s garage,and Jughead had sent off the Serpents with some extra cash for their time and service, Betty found that their privacy, in spite of the open unit door, was absolute.

 

Her dress was not the most modest outfit as it was, but her _straddling_ his motorcycle in that dress proved devastating to Jughead’s self control.

 

He kissed her ravenously, rasping his teeth against her throat and moaning about how sexy she was while his fingers, first, traced the snake on her arm, then lowered to her center, his fingers making her come on his bike.

 

She had wanted, desperately, to unbuckle his belt and push down his pants so that he could fuck her on his Harley, but he said he wanted to take his time with her. He wanted to enjoy every inch of her.

 

So they sped home to his apartment and now they were on his bed, his magical fingers unlocking orgasms from her with hardly any effort.

 

He smiled down at her face, waiting for her to come down from her climax. “Know why you’re wet or know why this makes me wanna fuck you?” he asked, tracing the snake again.

 

“Why it makes you wanna fuck me,” she whispered in his ear, catching the lobe of it between her teeth. Her fingers worked to undo his belt and pants.

 

He helped her shed his clothes, then he undressed her slowly, kissing every patch of skin as the dress came off her. He ran his tongue over her breasts, taking one nipple and then another into his mouth, then he made his way up to her collar and throat, sucking a hickey gently into her skin.

 

He did not remove the armband.

 

“Tell me why,” he whispered, kissing her and dipping his tongue into her mouth.

 

She whimpered as he sank himself into her, filling her where she needed him most. When he moved, pushing and pulling slowly, she forgot his demands, pleasure washing over her.

 

“Betts,” he said, tilting her head back so he can kiss and suck at her throat. “Tell me why.”

 

She closed her eyes, her hips moving to meet his. “Oh, Juggie… because it makes me—“ she gasped, feeling her orgasm begin. “It makes me yours.”

 

“It makes you mine,” he confirmed, a rough edge to his voice. “Betts—“

 

“Jug, don’t stop. I’m coming.”

 

Her words were lost in her wails of climax, and as she crested that high, Jughead’s pace quickened. With profanity falling from his lips, he climaxed right with her.

 

****************

 

So there were certainly dimensions to this.

 

Jughead had been forthcoming about being in a gang, practically from the start. He had worn his Southside Serpents jacket on occasion, but particularly on that first night they met. He had been cagey with the details,even when he was telling her his biggest secrets about it, and in all honesty, she hadn’t thought about him as any kind of leader in that gang until he told her he _was_ one.

 

Until that race with Magnus and Lars, she had thought of leadership as a student council thing, maybe even a corporate thing, or perhaps even a law enforcement and occasionally a military thing. _Organizations_ had leaders. And in that same vein, leaders comported themselves a certain way.

 

Jughead as a gang leader comported himself a certain way, and his way did things to her body chemistry.

 

Serpent Leader Jughead exuded confidence the way only a man with loyal followers could. He never hesitated to give orders. He unapologetically staked his claim.  He talked tough and he even looked tough.

 

He was all this.

 

But in the same way that Betty was bolder and more confident as a racer, Jughead only showed that side of him when the Serpents were around.  

 

On regular days, he was just his usual, broody self, who made self-deprecating jokes, worried over Jellybean, thought and spoke like a feminist, and finished his homework, but that last race had felt like Serpent Jughead unleashed and she was afraid that she really, really liked it.

 

***************

 

Jughead looked at his phone as it dinged beside him on the kitchen table. It was Sweet Pea telling him he would be at the coffeeshop in ten minutes.

 

Archie, who sat nearby, saw the text and sighed. “Jug--”

 

“Don’t start, Arch.”

 

“Look, man, I know he’s your friend and that he’s loyal to you, but--”

 

Jughead shook his head, taking his phone and pocketing it. “It’s just a couple of friends getting together, Archie.  Chill the fuck out.”

 

“I _am_ chill. I am the epitome of chill. Between the two of us, you’re the one who’s intense. What did your Serpent friends want with you, dude? I didn’t ask after I saw Toni and Sweet Pea at the field, but now I’m seeing their names popping up on your phone days later and I gotta know--are you hanging with them again?”

 

Jughead pulled on his sherpa jacket.  “Just reconnecting. We hadn’t talked for years. We’re just catching up.” He grinned, trying to make light of it. “Why, you jealous?”

 

Archie gave him a deadpan look. “Jug. Does Betty know you’re hanging with your ex?”

 

“I have no secrets with Betty,” Jughead said, an edge to his tone. “She knows about Toni, and she’s hung out with the others, too.  She likes them and they like her.”

 

“Listen,” Archie said, the lightness from his tone dwindling. “I like Sweet Pea, Toni, and even that dude--Fangs, is it? From what I remember of them, they were good to you, but every time you hang with them, you do things that can seriously land you in hot water.  Jug, what you have right now is great! University, a good home for Jellybean, a publishing house that’s just waiting for your next book, and--do I even need to say it?-- _Betty._ You’ve got Betty.”

 

Jughead bit back the retort that Betty likes this side of him, too.  He couldn’t fault Archie for looking out for him.  He couldn’t blame Archie for being worried, because it was the truth.  He _risked_ things when he was with the Serpents. He did shady things because he was loyal to them.  And it was difficult for Archie to understand that, because Archie never had to rely on other people for his survival.  He never had to do things he didn’t want to do because he had a little sister to think about.  

 

The worst thing Archie had ever had to put up with was his parents’ divorce, and they didn’t divorce because Archie’s father was an alcoholic who was sent to jail. His mother wasn’t a meth addict who abandoned him, either.  Archie’s parents’ divorced because of irreconcilable differences, which--if Jughead were being completely flippant--probably meant that Fred Andrews had left the toilet seat up one too many times.

 

Jughead didn’t want to lose all those good things that Archie listed out. He especially did not want to jeopardize Jellybean’s future or his relationship with Betty, but he was doing all this with every intention of preserving what he had.  He didn’t want to throw any of it away. He just had to figure out how he was going to do that without abandoning the friends who relied on him for their own survival.

 

“I know what I have, Arch,” Jughead said, opening the apartment door. “I’m not throwing it away.  I’m just meeting up with Sweet Pea and Toni, that’s all. Just relax. I won’t be out long.” He closed the door before Archie can say anything more.  

 

He sighed at the heavy feelings of guilt that was besetting him, not just because he was lying to Archie, but because he hadn’t told Betty the entire truth, either.  

 

Archie had always considered Jughead’s gang life a dark spot in his life, and Archie wasn’t wrong, just that it was Archie’s belief that nothing good ever came out of the Serpents, and Jughead could not agree with that completely, not when he had relied on Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs as his friends. Lying to Archie about them was easier.

 

Lying to Betty was like having a ball of thorns in his stomach. She had been so accepting of this side of him, of his friends, and of the history he had with them. That he wasn’t telling her about this business with Tall Boy was giving him all sorts of uneasy feelings.

 

But she had been so worried. He could see in her eyes the anxiety, and it was a look he _never_ used to give her. His relationship with her had been built on the fact that he _made_ her happy. That she could be herself when they were together and that he didn’t keep her up at night, worrying.

 

Tall Boy worried her. Tall Boy was making her think, and he was afraid that her spiraling from that day she learned about the JJ would happen again. If he could spare her that agonizing stress, he would. If he could keep her away from the dark places in her mind, he would do what it takes, including omitting certain truths.

 

He walked out of their apartment building and turned the corner to head the next block down.  There was a small pizza place just a couple of blocks over that Jughead figured was a good place to sit and talk. Most customers of the joint came and went, and where customers can sit, privacy was assured, tucked as the table was into a grove of dimly lit windows. Jughead was not concerned about being seen talking to Sweet Pea and Toni. He just needed them not to be overheard.

 

When he got to the pizza place, Sweet Pea and Toni were already waiting for him outside. Jughead said they should order and him and Toni ordered a couple of slices each. Sweet Pea opted for the salad, of course.

 

“If I didn’t know you, Sweet Pea, I wouldn’t believe you existed,” Jughead said, settling on a seat and taking a big bite of his pizza. His slice dripped with grease and cheese, just the way he liked it.

 

“I’ve had my lunch,” Sweet Pea replied. “I don’t need those extra carbs.”

 

“Whatever, dude,” Toni said, folding her own slice as she ate it. “I’m surprised Betty’s not here, Chief.  She busy?”

 

Jughead took the opportunity to think of what he was going to say while he chewed his food. “She doesn’t need to know about this. _This_ is Serpent business. She has nothing to do with this.”

 

Toni arched an eyebrow. “Okayyyy. Sure that’s a good idea, though? I mean--”

 

“You rode with her once, Topaz. Once. You and Betty best friends now all of a sudden?”

 

“Hey, jeez, take it easy,” she said, taken aback. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, boss. It’s _your_ relationship.”

 

“If Jughead wants to protect her, that’s his business,” Sweet Pea said.

 

Jughead tried not to flinch. Sweet Pea kind of hit the nail on the head, but when you got Sweet Pea’s unqualified support on something, you knew you’d hit on Primal Instinct territory.

 

Toni knew this and she shot Jughead a warning look. She didn’t insist, however.

 

“So tell me what you know, Sweet Pea,” Jughead said to immediately change the subject.

 

Sweet Pea pulled a folded sheet of paper from inside his coat and slid it in Jughead’s direction. “This is what we’ve gathered so far--who in the gang’s helping Tall Boy, where his corners are, who his suppliers could be… none of this is confirmed yet, and I’m going to need a couple more days to do that, but I’m pretty sure this is legit.”

 

Jughead looked at the information. It wasn’t a lot, but it was probably the most that’s been documented on the rumor of Tall Boy dealing JJ since his crew started hearing about it. “What’s he thinking? Is he gonna challenge Malachi’s market? Is he going for an entirely different market altogether? Either way, Tall Boy’s going to drag the Serpents in a war that’ll cost lives.”

 

“Can we stop him?” Sweet Pea asked.

 

Of course they can. Jughead knew exactly what to do, because he had seen his father do it. They had to go to the source, and they had to plug it up.  They needed to cut Tall Boy’s supply, but that was going to take a lot of violence, and Jughead didn’t know if he had the stomach for it.

 

“Get me that confirmation, Sweet Pea,” was all Jughead said. “Any news on Malachi, Toni?”

 

She nodded. “Plan worked without a hitch. Malachi’s completely convinced that you’re still one of us, but now he’s thinking about whether you’re working with Tall Boy or working against him. He’s trying to find cracks in our ranks, Jug. I don’t know what he’ll do once he figures things out.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“Keep listening,” Jughead said. “In the meantime, try to downplay any rift we have in the Serpents. It’s not like we didn’t always have this divide between the kids and the oldies. Every club has it, and most clubs work through it. This is just one of those things…”

 

They all knew that this was more than just a generational gap, but if they could sell it like that, at least temporarily, it would buy them some time.

 

“Also, I need you to make it clear to the crew that I don’t want any of them dealing JJ. Don’t let themselves get sucked into what Tall Boy’s doing. If I have to talk to them one by one, I will, but do what you can, first. If this gets hot… I don’t want any of them getting dragged into it.”

 

Sweet Pea nodded. “It’s easy enough right now, but when money starts to roll in...”

 

Jughead understood that. They didn’t have a lot of time, but if he could stop this ahead of the money, it could save many lives.

 

“You sure you don’t want Betty knowing about all this?” Toni asked.  

 

Jughead was tempted to tell Toni that Betty’s brother was in the FBI, working closely with the DEA, just to shut her up, but he understood that revealing that could put Chic and his family’s lives in jeopardy.  Right now, Betty and Polly at least were protected in that they didn’t even share the same last name with him.

 

Not that Betty would go to Chic with all this information, but he’d rather not put Betty in the position of lying to her own brother.

 

“I’m sure, Toni,” Jughead said. “Now just drop it.”

 

She did, and Sweet Pea looked like he was glad they weren’t getting into it.  

 

They finished their pizzas and headed out of the restaurant.  

 

“You go ahead, Sweet Pea. I’ll meet you at the Wyrm later,” Toni said.

 

Jughead had to summon all his willpower not to roll his eyes.  Sweet Pea merely arched an eyebrow as he told them goodbye.  

 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Jughead told Toni not to start.

 

Toni shook her head, lips pursed. “I’m not going to pester you about telling Betty. Sweet Pea’s right. That’s your relationship, your business. But I _am_ going to tell you that you don’t have to go all in with us on this JJ business.  We weren’t planning on dragging you into it in the first place. We just wanted to let you know that Malachi had you in his sights. This whole… JJ thing with Tall Boy was just kinda incidental to that.”

 

Jughead scoffed. “So you’re saying I should step away from this.”

 

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying. I know I told you I missed having you in charge, but after that last race, I realized we weren’t your problem. Let Sweet Pea and me handle it from hereon.”

 

“You know I can’t do that, Toni.”

 

“And why not? Because it’ll sour Sweet Pea on you? Fuck that. He’ll get over it.  The problem with Sweet Pea is that he trusts you can do a better job of this than he could, and he’s probably right, but it doesn’t mean he should let you get dragged back in. He’s Sweet Pea. He thinks the whole world can live like he can--giving zero fucks, doing things now and apologizing for them later. I think different, J. I think you have _a lot to lose._ I mean, c’mon, dude. I hate to belabor the point, but _Betty._ God, the way you looked at her. You’ll burn down the entire world for her. Now you’re lying to her, and it can only get worse.”

 

Jughead sighed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Toni, you guys were there for me when I needed you the most. It’s hard to let go of that. You know my issues with abandonment--I’m not going to let what happened to me happen to anyone else. I’m not going to be that guy abandoning the people I care about. It hurt too much when it happened to me. I don’t want anyone to ever feel what I did. I’m not doing this for anyone except you, Sweet Pea, and Fangs. I can’t just leave you to the mercies of that idiot, Tall Boy, who’s got nothing to look forward to anymore.  I know you got dreams, Topaz. You can pretend that you don’t care, but I know you. I know you want out just as much as Fangs does. Hell, probably just as much as Sweet Pea does. I can help you with that.”

 

“Then help us with that, but stay out of the drugs and gang politics. You’re thinking like FP and you of all people know where he is at the moment.”

 

Jughead chuckled bitterly, tearing his eyes from Toni’s pleading gaze.  “Look, you, me, and Sweet Pea will talk this out. I don’t--I don’t want to ruin what I have now, either. If I’m going to step away from this, and I’m not saying I will, I’m not going to do it leaving you up in the air. You let me do this properly. With a proper plan in place. Don’t just start ghosting me like you did the last time. Deal?”

 

Toni nodded. “Deal.”

 

They parted, finally, and Jughead watched her drive off on her motorcycle.

 

Jughead turned and headed back to his apartment.

 

His phone dinged, and when he looked, he was surprised to see that it was Veronica.

 

******************

 

***You have been invited to a group chat by **Veronica.Lodge** ***

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** OMG B!

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** B, are u there? Tell me if ur there! Elizabeth!

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** I’m here. Where’s the fire?

 

 **KevK:** Is this going to be juicy? Coz this is my time with B. It’s rare these days with J bogarting my B all the time.

 

 **FPJones3:** I am not bogarting your B.

 

 **FPJones3:** Srsly go get a boyfriend already

 

 **KevK:** omg you’re in this gc

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** he was here before yall

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** V, wth?

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** I promise this is important.  

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** But first of all, I’d like to announce that Cher and I are moving in together

 

 **GirlNextDoor: ❤❤❤❤❤**!!!!   RONNIE

 

 **KevK:** bdjekshfbdkksncndhrakdjhdh!!!! I can’t evn!

 

 **FPJones3:** look, i am doing th obligatory squealing, but can someone tell me why I’m in this chat?

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** hush you, Jug. Patience. I’ll get to that

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Juggie, just go with it. V likes you a lot so you’re in.

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** You should feel totes privileged

 

 **FPJones3:** i’m totes glowing with privilege right now

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** i love you

 

 **FPJones3:** fine. But let it be known that’s not always going to work babe

 

*** **Thesituation** has joined the chatroom***

 

 **Thesituation:** hey hey guys gals and gays! What up?

 

 **KevK:** arch how do you manage to sound like a bro dude even in chat?

 

*** **Blossom1** has joined the chatroom***

 

 **Blossom1:** Hello, plebes. Ronniepie, have you told them already?

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Ronniepie? Omigod so precious! Who knew?

 

 **Blossom1:** i am capable of deep affection, you blonde bitch

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Literally, Kev is falling off the couch laughing right now @ Wonnipie

 

 **Thesituation:** whats happening? Told them what?

 

 **FPJones3:** scroll up the chat. Where the hearts are

 

 **Thesituation:** (...)

 

 **Thesituation:** oh cool lesbians living together in sin! I dig that

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** You need to talk to your bro, jug

 

 **FPJones3:** I do

 

 **FPJones3:** constantly

 

 **FPJones3:** doesn’t help

 

 **Thesituation:** dude, Trev and Reg told me the other day that they wanted to lure you into a corner and beat your ass

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** omigod

 

 **FPJones3:** arch, none of that is relevant to this convo

 

 **Thesituation:** oh, is this not a gc to exchange juiC gossip?

 

 **FPJones3:** we don’t know what this gc is about yet. Ms. lodge hasn’t told us

 

 **KevK:** i wanna know about trev and reggie wanting to beat jug. Like, literally, not sexually like

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Kev!

 

 **FPJones3:** you know what? I’m sick of the football team trying to get my girl. Arch, tell ‘em I say bring it.

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Jughead jones! Omigod, yall are cavemen. Don’t tell them that, Arch

 

 **Thesituation:** oh, Jug won’t have to deal with it alone. I’ll be backup. They won’t win tho. Jug and i used to go to an mma gym together. We can take ‘m

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** i’m sorry WHAT

 

 **FPJones3:** ARCHIE ANDREWS

 

 **KevK:** Holy shit for serious? Jug and arch were half naked in an octagon with other half naked dudes.  With BODIES. Oh my loins!

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** guys we need to talk about this. Arch doesn’t surprise me, but JUGHEAD

 

 **Blossom1:** i have 100% interest in talking about half naked dudes. And by that i mean 0% interest

 

 **FPJones3:** i haven’t done that in a couple of years. Can we talk about why we’re here?

 

 **KevK:** so were you more standup or ground? Coz I love me some ground game. All those awesome bodies twisted together like

 

 **FPJones3:** stop

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** I’m calling standup. Juggie’s got the most amazing arms RAWR

 

 **FPJones3:** they’re all for you babe

 

 **Thesituation:** Jug did them all. Stand up and ground. Too bad we stopped man. I kinda miss it

 

 **FPJones3:** yeah. Choice between careers backed up by Columbia

 

 **FPJones3:** or a lifetime of fighting ending in Alzheimer's.

 

 **FPJones3:** Decisions are hard

 

 **KevK:** any chance you’d have a pick up fight?

 

 **KevK:** I’d love to see you in shorts and fighting gloves

 

 **FPJones3:** betty arent you going to say something to your best friend about objectifying me?

 

 **Thesituation:** _(sent_ _juginthegym.jpg)_

 

*** **KevK** accepts _juginthegym.jpg_ ***

 

*** **Veronica.Lodge** accepts _juginthegym.jpg_ ***

 

*** **Blossom1** accepts _juginthegym.jpg_ ***

 

*** **GirlNextDoor** accepts _juginthegym.jpg_ ***

 

 **FPJones3:** ARCHIE WTF

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** OMG i’m having your babies

 

 **KevK:** sweaty jughead being aggressive! So hot!

 

 **Blossom1:** i have to admit, Jones. This is doing something for me

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** what a smoke show! Show me moar arch

 

 **Thesituation:** yeah i got 1 pic

 

 **Thesituation:** not like i was gay for my own bro

 

 **FPJones3:** alright everybody settle down.

 

 **FPJones3:** I did that for 2 fucking years coz arch was bored and i needed him to shut up about it

 

 **FPJones3:** it was just a diversion.

 

 **FPJones3:** I was dealing with some shit and I needed an outlet. Back me up here, Betty.

 

 **FPJones3:** Betty?

 

 **FPJones3:** BABE

 

 **KevK:** Betty’s ran off

 

**GirlNextDoor: (….)**

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** sorry typing w 1

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** hand

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** othr hnd busy

 

 **Thesituation:** ohshit!

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** let the sexting begin!

 

 **Blossom1:** I would like it if I don’t have to see my cousin and her boyfriend sexting k pls thnx

 

 **FPJones3:** ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW

 

**GirlNextDoor: (....)**

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** oh get your minds out of the gutter, all of you.

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** My contact went dry. I was rehydrating.

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** also, I’ve seen Jughead sexier than that

 

 **FPJones3:** im glad to see I still excite you

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** you totes excite me. Like always.

 

 **FPJones3:** i live for it

 

 **KevK:** you guys are disgusting

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** you guys are so cute sexy. Scutey.

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** get it? cute+sexy=scutey

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** scutey

 

 **FPJones3:** okay, that’s a Class Fetch offense. Stop making it happen

 

 **Blossom1:** im thinking Jetty

 

 **FPJones3:** whut

 

 **Blossom1:** Jughead+Betty

 

 **Thesituation:** i call them bughead

 

 **FPJones3:** da fuck?

 

 **KevK:** adorbs! I like it

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** it IS kinda kewt

 

 **FPJones3:** BABE

 

 **FPJones3:** how can you advocate for this?!! We are not a celebrity couple

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** not yet. But after i’m done wichu, u will be. Wch finally brings us to why we’re all here!

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** Halloween is a couple of weeks away and cher’s throwing her usual big ass party.

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** You guys. THE COSTUME COMPETITION IS SERIOUS BUSINESS AND I WANT TO WIN THIS YEAR. THERE’S A CASH PRIZE THAT GOES TO CHARITY AND I WANT TO WIN THIS FOR BETTY AND HER CAUSES LIKE SHE HAS A TON IF THEM

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** oh V! So sweet!

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** anything for you b

 

 **FPJones3:** you’re fucking the host Ronnie. You can pull strings

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** that is not how i want to win this. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND

 

 **Blossom1:** I’m not opposed to unfair advantages.

 

 **Blossom1:** My entire life is built on it, but I’m not the judge, you hobo. It’s by audience vote

 

 **Thesituation:** don’t call him a hobo. Jug was homeless at some point

 

 **FPJones3:** thanks for baring my soul arch

 

 **Thesituation:** no problem brah. You’re my hommie

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** my poor baby. Cher you a jerk

 

 **Blossom1:** how can i possibly know that a Columbia student could’ve been homeless at some point?

 

 **KevK:** youd think bout that shit if u were woke

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** stop ganging up on Cher. She was just being herself

 

 **Blossom1:** Thank you, darling. You know i’d call anybody hobo. You poors are so sensitive

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** ok sweetie that last part was just

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** We’re sorry we poors get so cranky.

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** here we go

 

 **KevK:** we’re delicate snowflakes

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** between having jobs we didn’t get from our daddies and schooling we didn’t pay for

 

 **KevK:** the smallest slight sets us off

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** i realize that as your poor relation you have to tolerate me

 

 **Blossom1:** ok ronnie pls tell ur friends to shut up

 

 **FPJones3:** why ask ronnie to do it? You’re an expert soul crusher, Cheryl. Especially if they’re the riffraff

 

 **Thesituation:** i don’t mind being your poors cheryl.

 

 **Blossom1:** omg you peasants

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** as much as I enjoy it when cheryl gets shook, we really need to discuss halloween

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** I was watching GoT when it hit me

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** We gonna win this year

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** We are gunna be a Dothraki hoard.

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** B will be Khaleesi and Jug will be Khal Drogo.

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** Arch and his football team will be the rest of the Dothraki and I will be B’s hand maiden.

 

 **KevK:** What about me?

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** u be Ser Jorah Mormont

 

 **KevK:** I’ll allow it

 

 **Blossom1:** I’m host so i can’t be part of your little hoard, but i’ll be Melisandre.

 

 **Thesituation:** I’m down. That’s fucking awesome.

 

 **Thesituation:** Betty’s Queen of the football team so they’ll be cool

 

 **FPJones3:** Hello, i haven’t agreed to this!

 

 **FPJones3:** isn’t he half naked most of the time?

 

 **FPJones3:** and i have tattoos. The khal has them too. How’ll u finagle that?

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Juggie, you will be so hot as Khal Drogo. Like, lots of sexy times, hot

 

 **FPJones3:** ok i’m in

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** B, u gonna be a gorgeous khaleesi mother of dragons.

 

 **Blossom1:** have her eat a bloody heart or something like it

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** i am not eating anything bloody thnx

 

 **Thesituation:** i just texted the football team and they’re in it for Betty

 

 **FPJones3:** as khal, can i order the execution of Trev and Reggie?

 

 **KevK:** he’s abusing his power already. I approve

 

 **GirlNextDoor:** Juggie, my sun and stars, you know this isn’t real, right?

 

 **FPJones3:** betty, moon of my life, they still want to beat me up irl

 

 **Thesituation:** he’s ryt u kno

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** omg you guys are so ❤❤❤❤❤

 

 **Blossom1:** ayt nerds, this better be good. I don’t want a half-assd effort

 

 **Blossom1:** win this shit

 

 **Veronica.Lodge:** im in charge. We’ll win

 

 **Blossom1:** and can some1 explain to me why Jughead calls hiself FPJones3?

 

*****************

 

Jughead looked at the entire chat exchanged for several moments, feeling unmoored.

 

How could he be so careless with what he had with Betty? How can he possibly think that risking his relationship with her was even a thing?  

 

Toni was right. He had to step away from this JJ business. Betty deserved better than to have a boyfriend with an uncertain future. She didn’t sign up to date a gang leader.

 

That was not how it was supposed to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my thoughts on that last episode--I don't think of it as one episode as it is many scenes. But if I had to summarize, while that episode shattered my bughead heart for many reasons (the least of which is the breakup), I liked that episode after all and the nuances it had. 
> 
> That’s the gist, but if you want me to go into specifics, let me hit the big ticket items:
> 
> Betty's strip scene. There's so many things to say about this, but let me be clear. I don't have issues with sex workers insofar as they are doing their job with their full consent. Obviously, some sex workers would prefer to do other things to earn money, but if you are a sex worker and we cross paths and we get along as human beings, I will never think less of you for the job you choose to have, and depending on your comfort level with sex working, I will support and encourage, as needed by you, as my friend. That said, Betty's strip dance was uncomfortable, but it wasn't treated otherwise by the producers of the show. Is it less than ideal that she was 16, YES, but I appreciate the fact that no one cat called or treated her like a piece of meat up there. I also appreciated how it was clear Betty wanted to do this. It was a means to an end, for her, but she absolutely had no problem doing that strip tease. She wanted it, and with Betty, her agency was so paramount and even admirable. Did she do it to get closer to Jughead? Yes. Did she do it because she wanted to? YES. This was Betty doing her thing and she wasn't going to let social norms dictate her actions. And honestly, I've found that folks who found her strip tease disgusting while also wanting to see a sex scene with her and Juggie bothers my sense of feminism--like, can't a woman show her sexuality on her terms, without having to rely on a man to supposedly validate her act, like if were the case in a sex scene? Being given that jacket was incidental to what Betty wanted, when it came down to it. 
> 
> Next, Jughead's need to protect her and his tendency to push her away. I'm gonna be honest here and say that I am not happy with Jughead right now. I get his motivations, but I ask the same question Betty did--how many times? It's getting a little old, Juggie. 
> 
> Next, Alice and FP's probably past, while titillating, is something I never want to happen. I don't want Betty and Jughead to be freaking step brother and sister. 
> 
> Finally, that tease with Archie and Betty. I will kill a bitch if Archie and Betty do something stupid. 
> 
> Well, that's it. I hope I haven't completely lost you, because I love you all for getting this far and you are just--I can't do any of this without you guys. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> (More to come in the next chapters. I hope you liked this one.)


	13. Snake Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead bares his fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with that last episode doing all sorts of things to my sanity, I figured the best I could do was make the most of what we were given.
> 
> With Jughead doing what he did to Penny Peabody, I have canon to support my headcanon that Jughead can be a freaking badass if he puts his mind to it. And yeah, this Jughead is purported to be a badass.

 

I raise my flags, don my clothes  
It's a revolution, I suppose  
We'll paint it red to fit right in  
I'm breaking in, shaping up,  
then checking out on the prison bus  
This is it, the apocalypse

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones  
Enough to make my systems blow  
Welcome to the new age, to the new age  
I'm radioactive, radioactive

All systems go, the sun hasn't died  
Deep in my bones, straight from inside  
\--Radioactive, by Imagine Dragons

 

  
“I need to tell you something and I’m afraid you’ll get mad,” Betty said, feeling her heart going faster as the words spilled out of her lips.

They were in a coffee shop just outside campus, the sounds of the city wafting softly in the background. It was calming with the intensely hipstery music playing overhead, but her nerves were so wired from thinking about what she had to say since this morning that her hands were cold from nervousness.

She’d been meaning to talk to Jughead about Chic’s unofficial inquiry into his private life. It’s been a while now since Polly left and Betty had been putting off the telling because she was afraid he’d be upset.

How upset, she didn’t know, but she understood how Jughead valued his privacy and Chic basically did everything to violate that. It was unnerving to think that this could put a wedge between them, but that wedge could only get worse over time. She had to tell him now or it was going to be bad if Jughead found out from someone else—like Kevin, for instance. She shuddered at the thought.

Jughead looked at her with concern, his brows knitting together. He looked, quite frankly, surprised, like he couldn’t believe she had some big reveal up her sleeve. Maybe it’s because he was the one who invited her to coffee.

She felt his hands covering hers then gently prying her fingers to uncurl from her palms.

She gasped softly. She hadn’t realized she was doing that, and the deep indentations were marked on her palms. She didn’t break skin, but there would be bruising.

He rubbed his fingers over the marks, a worried look on his face. “I could never get mad at you,” he said, softly.

“Well,” she said, with a nervous chuckle. “I could think of plenty of ways I can get anyone mad at me, but this thing in particular—I’d be mad if I were you.”

He took a deep breath, his worried look turning into a deep scowl. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“What? No!” she cried. “God, no, Juggie. This is nothing near that. I’m just--this is something I should’ve told you but I’ve been putting it off…” She looked at her fingers uneasily.

His eyebrow arched, a look of alarm in his eyes. “You’re not--you’re not pregnant, are you?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Fuck, no!”

He let out a breath. “Okay, phew. I mean, some day, that’d be nice but not now.”

For a moment, she was immensely distracted by his words. Did he really say it would be nice to have babies with her? Because it would be nice, but was that something he’d given some thought to? It would be adorable having little Jugheads running around, wouldn’t it?

“Juggie,” she crooned, kissing him lovingly.

He smiled into the kiss. “There is nothing I want more than to explore my little Freudian slip, but you wanted to tell me something and it sounded serious.”

She wilted and pulled away. “Right.” Sighing, she bit her lip. “Chic checked up on you. He went back on your records and dug everything up. I swear, Juggie, he does this to every guy who’s ever shown an interest in me, but with you he really went for it because he knows you mean a lot to me. And it’s fucked up and everytime he does this, I hate it and I get mad at him, but he would do it anyway. I’ve long stopped fighting with him about it, because he does it out of fear--fear I put there when I decided to slit my wrist with a razor. I’m sorry. I did a horrible thing that night and now everyone else has to suffer the consequences of what I’d done--”

“Betty,” he interrupted, gently. “What does he know?”

She pursed her lips and gathered her courage. “Everything. From your juvie record to your visits to your father at Thanksgiving. He promised he would never do that again--”

“Did he tell you to dump me?” he asked, sounding the tiniest bit stern.

She was startled by the question. “No. No he didn’t. He--he likes you, Juggie. I told him that you went from being in a gang to where you are now--and look how far you’d come! He actually agreed with me. He said he respects you for it.”

He seemed shocked at that, the creases on his brows deepening. “You--he said that?”

She nodded, grasping his hands. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him from checking up on you. Chic’s a good guy. You have to believe me, but he’s protective and it takes him two seconds to request that inquiry--”

“Betty,” Jughead interrupted again. “He knows everything about me and he doesn’t mind that I’m with you?”

“Yes, but that’s hardly the point--”

“It’s the entire point,” Jughead said. “Chic doesn’t think I’m trash.”

“It wouldn’t matter if he did.”

“Baby, of course it matters,” he said, softly.

Her words died on her lips. It shouldn’t surprise her, what he said, but he always had a way of saying things that made her feel loved and cherished and his. She looked at him, waiting for him to say more.

“It matters because you look up to Chic, and you love him. It mattered to me what Chic and Polly thought of me. I wanted them to like me.”

She blinked, willing her tears not to fall because Jughead was so overwhelmingly wonderful right now that she wasn’t sure she could contain herself. “Y-You’re not mad Chic checked up on you?”

He seemed slightly uneasy, but certainly not mad. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just relieved he didn’t tell you to break up with me. I kind of expected he’d look me up. He’s an FBI agent. I would do exactly the same for Jellybean were I in his shoes. So when it didn’t seem like he hated me, I just thought he didn’t do the background check. I also figured that if not now, then eventually, and then he’ll tell you to leave me.”

“He couldn’t ever tell me to leave you, Juggie,” she said, pointedly. Seriously. But the relief in her chest was unbelievable. “I really think he shouldn’t be doing that sort of thing. It’s really fucked up.”

“The world is dark and full of terrors, Betty. I don’t blame him,” he said, taking his coffee and sipping it.

“Alright, Melisandre,” Betty said with a mildly chastising grin. “So you’re telling me that if I asked Chic to check on Gabe, you’d be all for it.”

Jughead shrugged. “I wouldn’t check on Gabe, honestly. He looks like a sweet kid. JB’s the one we all gotta watch out for.”

She shot him withering look. “JB is an angel.”

“See? She already has you fooled.”

Betty rolled her eyes, but as she laced her fingers with his, she felt so lucky to be loved by him. She looked up at him, smiling softly. “I love you.”

He brought her hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles, then he pressed his lips to hers in a quick but tender kiss. “I love you, too.”

She sighed, happily. She wished they could stay this way forever. With Chic’s transgressions no longer weighing her down, she felt much lighter. “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

He blinked, seeming confused for a moment.

She chuckled at the look on his face. “You asked me to coffee, remember? I just figured something was on your mind.”

He seemed hesitant. “Betty, how do you feel about me reconnecting with the Serpents?”

She could feel her own brows knotting tightly at his question and he hastened to explain.

“I know you’ve been accepting of them, and that we—“ he reddened visibly. “It kinda adds a nice dimension to our—well, intimate moments.”

“I could think of a better adjective than nice, Juggie.”

He chuckled, biting his lip. He seemed to be searching for words, which was probably a bit alarming, as Jughead’s thing was finding the right words so easily. “How worried are you about me reconnecting with Sweet Pea and Toni?”

He wasn’t asking if she was worried, because it seemed that he had accepted the fact that even if she had embraced his past and loved what it turned him into, the inevitability of trouble that the type of gang Serpents brought ultimately worried her. He was asking how worried she was, like on a scale of 1 to 10.

“A little worried,” she admitted, softly. “But I know that they’re there for you. Just like you’re there for them.” She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“I just--” He paused, again, but he didn’t break her gaze. “I just don’t want to be that guy who keeps you up at night for the wrong reasons. I mean, you’re happy, aren’t you?”

She touched his face, smiling lovingly at him. “So happy, Juggie. I can’t even tell you how much.”

“And that’s what makes me happy,” he replied. “But if at any moment, you feel scared or unsure, please just call me and we can talk about it, alright?’

She nodded, tilting her chin up to kiss him again. He was so sweet. So thoughtful. She felt so lucky to be loved by this man. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about? Managing my anxiety?” she teased.

He rubbed her shoulder tenderly in what seemed like a pregnant pause, then he nodded, quietly. “Kind of. And also, I was uh--thinking we should do our photojournalism project soon.”

She thought that an interesting change of gears. A little too off topic, but she liked how normal it was. “Well, that’s very conscientious of you, Forsythe.”

“Someone has to be.”

She backhanded his arm lightly and he chuckled at the look she tossed him.

“Maybe we should fall back on food. Burgers of New York,” he suggested.

She shook her head, her eyes agleam. “I was thinking Serpents in their natural habitat.”

His eyebrow arched. She nodded, as if to affirm what she just said, but then she asked, “Do you think that’s a terrible idea?”

“I mean… it’s not, really. It’s interesting. What would be the story?”

“It’s a rough idea, but people look at gangs in general, and never think of the reasons they were formed in the first place.”

He quirked a sad smile. “Gangs are a symptom of a failing system.”

She bit her lip. “Yes, and that also means that for many, gangs are the only value system they know. You told me yourself, the police didn’t care for your side of town. Your community needed someone to fight the drugs, so your father did it. The Serpents are also a good subject because you’re a biker gang that happens to be racially diverse. Remember Resurrection City? Freedman gave faces to the forgotten.”

A light shone in his eyes at that last part. “It’s not a bad idea, Cooper.”

She grinned, encouraged. “Think about it, Jones. And then we can pick a time and place, yeah? Somewhere we can showcase our subjects.”

“I know the perfect time and place.”

**************

Jughead had wanted to tell her. He swore he did. When he invited Betty to coffee, he wanted to lay it all out, that the Serpents had a drug problem and he needed to clean it up, and that after he did that, or at least got it going in that direction, he would step away from the Serpents forever.

But she looked so happy, and he figured he could get this done without having to worry her unnecessarily. Not to mention the fact that anything he told her meant another thing she had to keep from her brother, the brother who did not trash him because of his past.

Suddenly, telling her felt like shooting a bullet through his own foot. He needed to think about this. Perhaps he had to reconsider the timing.

Her project idea was presenting itself as a welcome distraction at the moment. He didn’t even need to run it by the Serpents. The Serpents, him included, were, at their core, a bunch of guys who thought themselves too cool for the status quo. They’d love that shit documented somewhere, even in a school project that probably only the professor, or at most, a class will get to see.

They were at Betty’s apartment, making plans on how to get their shot list and what the best time to go there was. Betty wrote their plans down on a pink notepad with flowers drawn down one side of the rule, which Jughead found fascinating, because sometimes he forgot that Betty actually loved pink.

He told Betty that they should meet up with the crew at the Whyte Wyrm around 6.

“It’s a biker bar,” Jughead explained, pulling his phone out to text Sweet Pea of their plans for the following evening. “ _The_ biker bar. It’s the home of the Serpents. They even have the Serpent logo up front in neon lights.”

“I’m in love with it already. God, Juggie, these were your haunts as a teenager!”

He laughed softly. “It’s also a strip joint.”

She scoffed. “Even better. I don’t know if you realize that strip joints are a lifeline for some college women. 33% of strippers actually do rely on their earnings to get them through college. It’s better than working shifts at a coffee shop or waiting on tables at a restaurant.”

Jughead had heard about the statistic. “Gotta have the stomach for that job--guys are dumb and nasty, and the worst part, they’re cheap, too.”

“You must’ve loved having access to a strip bar at 16,” she teased.

“The pole dancers didn’t do much for me,” Jughead grumbled. “You gotta remember that my dad was the president of the Serpents for a long time. He brought me to the Whyte Wyrm a lot as a little kid when there wasn’t a sitter available to watch over me, and sometimes, when he had to do business, he’d leave me with the strippers at their dressing room to be looked after. I didn’t care if they were mostly naked. All I cared about was that a couple of them liked giving me lollipops. Don’t ask me to explain why they had a lot of them in stock. It was like a Dark Mirror version of Eloise at the Plaza, except it’s Forsythe at the Whyte Wyrm.”

She laughed at the comparison. “So seeing them at 16, you weren’t turned on?”

He shrugged. “Most of the original strippers from my childhood were still there, which meant it felt like watching my aunts getting up on stage to take off their clothes. Wrong on so many levels. Every once in a while we’d get a new stripper, college age, and maybe I’d feel something, but I was always reminded of lollipops and strippers smoothing my hair down with their saliva, which was unbearably gross, by the way, so strippers don’t usually do it for me.”

She set her writing pad aside and slid up against his body, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “You seemed to like my strip tease,” she whispered, straddling him on the couch and letting his hands settle on her hips.

“Baby, many things you do turn me on. You don’t even need to try that hard with me.”

As if to test that theory, she rolled her hips against him, which predictably made him hard in two seconds.

She giggled.

“I’m glad to see that my weakness of will amuses you,” he began, sighing as he thrust back. “I thought we were going to finish this brainstorming session. You said, Juggie, we need to get this done--”

She kissed him, laughing softly even as her tongue tangled with his. “You didn’t think I lured you into my apartment just for that, did you?”

He smirked, running his hands up under her sweater. “I gotta at least pretend that I think of things other than having sex with you.”

She giggled again, pulled back, and peeled off her sweater. Her lacy blue bra gave her wonderful breasts a lift that was entirely unnecessary but utterly nice to have.

He looked up at her beautiful eyes, dark with lust. “My favorite color,” he said, cheekily.

She grinned, capturing his face in her hands and kissing him. “I know.”

Jughead’s hand moved up to cup her breast, pushing back the soft lace with his thumb so he could circle it around her nipple. The moan of appreciation that hummed from her lips was what he lived for. “So… our project?”

“You’re my project now.”

He was completely fine with that.

******************

The Whyte Wyrm was a two-story structure with wood siding painted green on the first floor and an old, mottled brown on the second. The establishment’s sign sat above the main doors on a sturdy red awning, a fearsome snake with bared fangs serving as the sign’s background.

As if that weren’t clear enough, the Southside Serpent logo was emblazoned in neon lighting beside the double doors that were aggressively designed with an 80s rock metal aesthetic.

Bikers, men and women alike, littered the parking lot, many of them wearing the Serpent jacket.

As Betty heaved her backpack over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but relish the curious looks that were getting thrown her way. In a sea of black and leather, her jeans paired with her white shirt with a cat peeking out of its breast pocket, and pink cardigan stood out like a strange reversal of Wednesday Addams walking into Camp Chippewa.

Toni met her and Jughead at the front steps and her eyes notably gave Betty the once over. “Abercrombie & Fitch called. Said they want their model back.”

Betty pulled down the breast-pocket of her shirt, flashing Toni with a cat holding up its middle finger.

Toni blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, that’s funny.”

Jughead chuckled. “Babe, don’t ever change.”

Betty gave him a saucy wink before directing a grin at Toni. “Ready for your closeup? You’ll be gorgeous against the backdrop of this black and leather aesthetic.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, hon,” Toni said, looping her arm around Betty’s and pulling her through the doors. “Then we can curl each other’s hair as we talk about Jughead having great taste in women.”

“Easy, Topaz,” Jughead said, trailing behind them.

Betty felt overwhelmed by the sights and sounds around her. There was a stage with two poles on them with the most terrible technicolor lighting and a couple of girls dancing sensually in their underwear. Happy hour just started and so they would get more naked later on.

Servers walked around with trays held high, serving beer and shots, covering the first floor where bikers and other patrons littered the standing tables and the tiny dance floor. A snake tank, with its lone albino python, sat dimly lit by the bar. The second floor landing had patrons leaning over the railing as they held their beers.

The sharp sound of acrylic billiard balls striking each other cracked through the air and Betty’s eyes were drawn to the pool tables.

She saw Sweet Pea and Fangs immediately, but she also recognized several Serpents from the last race. Their names were hard to forget: Moonshine, Clay, Navy, Loud Mouth, and Leslie, who was a dude.

They were greeted with a loud cheer, and Betty found herself engulfed into their circle. Some of them were already a little drunk and the amount of back slapping Jughead got was almost alarming.

A few of the old timers approached Jughead, too, and he introduced her as his girlfriend. He did explain that they were doing a project for school, and that they needed pictures for their professor to grade.

Betty watched as Serpents, old and young, hung onto every word Jughead said, but as she was told, pretty much constantly, that the status they afforded him had been earned.

Considering biker gangs like the Serpents weren’t exactly the “Trophy for everyone!” type of crowd, Betty could only guess at the type of things that earned Jughead his stripes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know everything. She wasn’t so naive as to think that the sweet, gentle man she’d grown to love couldn’t have done things he wasn’t proud of, but she knew in her heart that the things he’d done weren’t unforgivable. She knew because he had the loyalty of people like Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs. Ride or die as they were (and maybe secretly, she felt that kinship with them, whether they knew it or not), she could not imagine them staying loyal to Jughead if he had ever done anything truly unspeakable.

She also supposed that it helped immeasurably that none of them wanted to deal in drugs and guns.

“Hey, Betts,” Jughead said, softly, fitting a lens on his camera. “Do you want us to go through the shotlist together or do you want to split the work?”

She gave him an apologetic look. “I still have a lot to learn, Jug. I’m not comfortable going off on my own yet.”

He nodded. “Together, is it.” He smirked. “Just like I’d hoped.

She couldn’t help the brilliant smile that shone from her lips. He could be so adorably cheesy sometimes. His eyes were filled with mirth as he held his camera up and snapped a picture of her.

“Jug!” she cried in protest, holding her hand up to get between her face and his lens. As hard as she worked to remove her mind of Alice’s voice, there were a few dregs of that voice that still often filtered through, like how she looked in pictures. The lighting here could not be very good for her complexion. “Not here! I look awful.”

“Silly girl,” he said, teasingly. “It’s impossible to make you look awful. Take a look.”

She shook her head, refusing to look.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, draping an arm over her shoulder and holding up the viewer with one hand to show her. She was smiling, of course, but her eyes held such a look of love that they shone against the dark backdrop. The view of the bar and neon lighting gave it an almost 80s electronica feel, like love in a time of disco, drugs, and stolen cars.

“You’re amazing with a camera, Juggie,” she said, pecking a soft kiss on his lips.

“I like catching you happy like this,” he said, smoothing his hand over her arm and shoulder. He said it so seriously that it made her heart constrict with emotion.

“Let’s get to that shot list,” he said, pulling away. “Or I’ll take pictures of you all night.”

They walked around the bar, first and second floor, snapping pictures of patrons, bar staff, and their friends. They went outside to take pictures of the parking lot, beautiful bikes gleaming under the flash of neon lights.

They got hundreds of pictures, and when they were done, they sat around the pool table with his— _their_ friends.

Betty settled against Jughead’s thigh as he sat on a bar stool, enjoying the feel of his arm around her waist and the sound of his laughter reverberating close to her ear. He whispered interesting tales about the people surrounding them, of things Jughead remembered they had done, nothing criminal or sad, obviously, but funny and sometimes dangerous. There was no shortage of characters.

Men and women, young and old. Betty was glad to have captured many of them with her lens, but she was excited to see what Jughead had captured. He was an amazing photographer.

Someone played “Living on a Prayer” on the jukebox and groans and boos erupted from their side of the room.

“Stop playing Jon Bon Jovi, ya old geezers!” someone cried.

Betty was pretty sure it had been Toni.

Amidst the loud shouts and good natured ribbing, Betty turned around to slip her arms around Jughead’s shoulders. He smirked, pulling her closer.

“I noticed there’s a karaoke set up on that stage,” she said, teasing.

“That’s not until Saturday,” he replied, already shaking his head. “But if you think I’m going to push my weight around and get them to fire up that thing tonight, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Don’t try to distract me with your misuse of words. I know you know the correct usage.”

He chuckled. “Nothing gets past you.”

“You know it, but I’m not going to deprive strippers of billable hours. What I’m trying to get at is that we need to come back here on Saturday, with V and Kev, possibly Cheryl, so that we can light up that stage. Maybe I can even make everyone think I’d take my clothes off.”

Jughead’s eyes bugged out. “You want to bring Cheryl here?”

“Really? That’s what bothers you? Not the stripping part?”

“Well--”

She kissed him, laughing. When she pulled away he looked winded. “We’ll talk about it, but I’m telling you, it will be fun.”

Again, he was shaking his head, but then his eyes flickered over her shoulder briefly, and she almost turned to look at what got him so distracted when he said, “One second, babe. I need to go to the restroom.”

She let him go, easily. And as he left, Toni took her by the hand and said, “Let’s sit over there by the dart boards. It’s so noisy over here.”

Betty nodded, following Toni to the less crowded section, where the dart boards were. She saw Jughead disappear into the corner where she assumed the bathrooms were.

“Hey, blondie,” came a voice behind her. “Y’ look lost--sweet thing like you in a place like this? I’ll keep y’ company, if you fancy a good time. Can I get y’ a bit o’ club juice?” His Scottish accent was thick, distinctly Glasgow, if Betty were going by the pitch of it. She found accents fascinating, particularly the nuances between cities. She wasn’t sure why he was offering her juice, though. Must be a thing in Scotland.

She did not know who this person was. He was wearing a Serpent jacket, too, and his dark brown hair was tied up in a messy bun.

“Piss off, McFadden,” Toni hissed. “Wanna tell FP3 that you’re hitting on his girl?”

“Shite, take it easy, Toni. I was just being hospitable,” McFadden said, standing up and making to leave. “Meant no disrespect.”

“Buy us a drink and maybe I won’t tell Jughead,” Toni added.

McFadden cursed again, but then he hurried off and made straight for the bar, holding two fingers up and pointing to their table as he spoke to the bartender.

Betty didn’t want to know what Jughead did in the past to elicit that kind of response from his gang members.

“God, breaking hearts wherever you go,” Toni teased, nudging Betty with her shoulder.

Betty felt her own face go warm. “I could’ve told him off on my own. I was just caught a bit off guard. I assumed everyone here knew I was with Jughead...”

Toni smirked. “Many of these dudes have never had a serious relationship in their lives, so while McFadden might know how to respect that and back off, some of these other dudes, particularly the older ones, won’t care. They think all the girls that walk into this bar is for sharing.”

Betty looked at the older Serpents who tended to sit closer to the stage, where the strippers were. She sighed and looked around her. The contrast between young and old was stark even in this dimly lit bar and the monochromatic black jacket that pervaded its patrons.

The younger crew was loud and vibrant, laughing and boisterous. There was so much energy to them, even though their eyes were hardened by circumstance. The older Serpents sat quietly drinking at their tables, exhaustion etched into their faces, chiseled by time . They moved with their shoulders squared and their chins held high, but what mirth they may have had in their youth was completely sapped. Everyone once in awhile laughter would punctuate the older crowd, but not as one happy group. Mostly just one or two erupting in bitter barks.

Betty knew her life wasn’t exactly easy, but she didn’t think she had it that much harder than anyone else here.

She shook her head as she tore her eyes from the senior Serpents. “I won’t pretend that I know everything about this life--your life and Jughead’s. There will probably be parts of it that I will never understand, but I’d like to think that Jughead isn’t afraid to let me into it. I’ve let him into mine. I have absolutely no secrets from him.”

Toni sighed.

McFadden’s order for them came, and Betty found herself looking at a Belgian craft beer. She didn’t think this would be available at the Whyte Wyrm.

“Surprised?” Toni asked, seeing the look on her face. “McFadden’s from Europe. He would never get us an anything close to a Bud or Corona.”

“But craft beer? No offense, but I wouldn’t have expected it at the Whyte Wyrm.”

Toni smirked. “I man the bar most days here. I purchase a lot of the booze and I’m gonna do my part to wrestle that bar out of the Dark Ages.”

Betty chuckled, taking a swig of the beer. It was delicious. “So you bartend for the Whyte Wyrm.”

She nodded. “Going on five years now.”

“Wait, so… if you’re the same age as Jughead, you started when--”

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay.”

Toni smirked. “The way this place works, it’s basically owned by the MC, the shares distributed among many members. There’s a manager, always a man, of course, always a Serpent. Their only responsibility is making sure this place doesn’t get run to the ground. Profits are a nice to have, but only necessary for the upkeep. So they can’t really afford to employ fancy mixologists, so they have folks like me, usually starting off underaged. Frankly, I can run this place better that any of those old fogies, but I’m not allowed to run it--at least not while Tall Boy and his ilk are running the MC. If someone like Jughead or Sweet Pea takes over, I will fucking buy this joint and run it better. They’ll let me.”

Betty tried not to flinch at the mention of Jughead taking over. Her feelings about that were complicated, at best. She took a deep breath and concentrated instead on how Toni wanted to own this bar. “I like that plan, Toni. You got the money for it?”

Toni drank her beer, her eyes lowering to the glass in front of her. “Not yet,” she muttered. “But I’ll figure it out when I have to. No point right now, where these old white dudes can ruin everything.”

Betty reached out and put a hand on Toni’s arm. “How much do you need?”

Toni stared at her hand, surprised. “$100K, at least. I haven’t actually sat down and computed the costs, so it’s probably more than that, but share wise, that’s how much I’ll need to buy everyone out. Not exactly the kind of money I have lying around.”

Betty nodded. That sort of money was peanuts for Cheryl’s family, but of course, she had no idea if Cheryl would be so benevolent as to grant a loan for a dive bar in Newark. Even Veronica could probably swing a loan like that. She didn’t say any of that to Toni, however. She had no right to promise other people’s money, after all.

All she knew was that Toni had ambitions and Betty always wanted to help a woman in need if she can.

“You never know, Topaz. Someone just might be willing to help you out,” Betty said, optimistically.

Toni scoffed.

Betty looked around her, all of a sudden remembering Jughead. “What the heck’s taking Jughead so long? I hope he’s alright.” She started to get up, but Toni stopped her gently.

“You do not want to go to those bathrooms, honey. Especially the boys’ one. Let’s get Fangs to look for him.”

Tony waved Fangs over, who willingly went looking for Jughead. He came back a few moments later, telling them that Jughead just got caught by a couple of FP’s old friends and that he’d be back in a few minutes.

“Oh, okay,” Betty said, quietly. An uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach and she wondered momentarily if the Belgian beer was responsible for it.

“You, uh, worried about Jughead?” Toni asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

Toni arched a pointed eyebrow at her hands, which were now balled into fists, knuckles sharp and white. She willed her fingers to loosen, feeling the warm relief of her nails removing themselves from the indents that were probably there in her skin.

Betty took a deep, calming breath. “The older Serpents… they worry me.”

Toni cocked a smile. “We don’t? Younger crew’s a bunch of hotheads with the energy of 16 year old boys on Red Bull. We get in trouble when we breathe.”

“I don’t know,” Betty sighed. “You’re just--you care about Jughead. I don’t think the older ones do. They just--I feel like they just want to use him. Or am I just being dramatic and stupid?”

Toni pursed her lips, eyeing her intently. “No, you’re not. Jughead’s done a lot to earn the respect of everyone, but the loyalty of the younger crew to him is a powerful thing. That’s something the older guys aren’t going to get so long as Jughead’s alive. Sweet Pea’s next, but a lot of the respect he gets is because Jughead named him leader in his stead. Right now, the young ones are fast outnumbering the old. It’s our time now.”

“I can’t imagine that Tall Boy’s happy about that,” Betty said, softly. “Will Tall Boy hurt him for it?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Toni said, without hesitation, and Betty found a bit of comfort in that.

A couple of Martinis arrived at their table and Betty looked at the server questioningly.

“They’re from Gray,” the server told Toni. “For the Golden Princess and her friend.”

Toni groaned. “Tell Gray to fuck off--friend my ass. Like he doesn’t know who the fuck I am. I wouldn’t take that drink if I were you, Betty. Dude’s an entitled old geezer. He’ll think you owe him something.”

Betty gave the server a polite smile. “Please tell Mr. Gray it isn’t necessary.”

The server, whose name tag said Peachy, scoffed. “I ain’t going back to that dude. I don’t need him slapping my ass a second time. You can just leave these here and not drink them. Don’t look his way. Do not make eye contact. They’re already paid for.”

“Great,” Toni grumbled.

Betty, having zeroed in on the butt-slapping comment, compounded by “he’ll think you owe him something” began to bristle at the smug look of superiority on Gray’s face from across the room. Now decidedly furious, Betty picked up both Martini glasses as she stood. Contrary to Peachy’s advice, Betty made eye contact with Gray, making sure he saw her as she walked to the nearest trash receptacle and poured the contents of the glasses out in the wide-mouthed bin, before going back to their table and placing the empty glasses back on Peachy’s tray.

Toni, mouth agape, watched as Betty, still making a show of it, dusted off her hands dramatically then waved a withering buh-bye to an obviously shocked Gray.

Betty finally sat back down and pulled a few dollars from her purse to give to Peachy to tip her. “There. If he bothers you again, let me know. I may be more direct with him.”

Peachy, grinning, nudged Betty’s shoulder with the back of her hand while giving Toni a wink. “I like your friend, Toni. Bring her by more often.”

It was only after Peachy left that Toni laughed and leaned over the table. “Ah, Betty. You continue to surprise me.”

She smirked. “Us girls gotta stick together.”

Toni cocked a grin. “Are you sure you only like dick?”

Betty felt her face warming, but she did chuckle and nod. “Yes, and a very specific one, at that.”

Toni laughed even louder, her eyes shooting over Betty’s shoulder and nodding in that direction.

Betty looked and saw Jughead at the far corner of the bar, by the jukebox, talking to Sweet Pea. She didn’t see any Serpents FP’s age talking to him, but then that may have been the truth a few minutes ago.

She really shouldn’t think much on it. Jughead would tell her if there was something wrong. He would tell her the truth, because that’s what they did.

  
**************

“Alright, all of you, clear out!” Sweet Pea barked as he made his way down the wide hallway towards the emergency exit doors.

A few couples lining the walls scrambled to right themselves, a rustling of zippers and buckles sounding at their wake.

“Don’t touch the walls,” Sweet Pea told Jughead. “Its been 18 hours since we got these walls disinfected. Trust me when I say you do not want to risk it.”

Jughead figured it was easier to just heed Sweet Pea’s warning. “Tell me what you know.”

“Tall Boy has two Serpents working with him on this: Handsome and Sick Jim. So far as we know, Tall Boy’s got corners along Lorimer, Olins, Wabashi, and Fox Forest Park.”

“Fuck,” Jughead hissed. “He just went ahead and set up shop along the high school. Do you know who he has on the corners?”

“Bunch of other local kids. There are plenty who don’t go for the bikers and fops.”

“Is he keeping all the money?”

“For now. He’s only just started ramping up his drug business.”

Jughead sighed. It’s real now. It wasn’t a rumor and it wasn’t just Tall Boy dealing on the side. He was thinking bigger and he was poised to make the Serpents more venomous than ever.

“Do we know who his supplier is?” Jughead asked.

Sweet Pea shook his head. “Haven’t figured out that part yet. I need more time.”

Jughead pressed his lips together. He had hoped that information was easy to find, but if Sweet Pea needed to do more to get that information, he was thinking the risk to obtain it would be greater. “Quit it for now. I don’t want you or your guys getting any deeper.”

“I see that look in your eyes, J, and I ain’t liking it.” Sweet Pea was frowning. “Are you gonna do something stupid?”

“I hope not,” Jughead muttered. “I need to talk to Tall Boy.”

“And tell him what?”

“The truth. That if he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, I’m going to get in his way.”

Sweet Pea scowled. “I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore, Jug. With drugs, it’s a different playing field. You need to watch your back.”

Jughead knew what Sweet Pea said was true, but for now, he had to bank on the fact that his status would protect him from Tall Boy, at least. He didn’t know if Tall Boy’s supplier would be impressed in the same way, but until he knew who that supplier was, he couldn’t be paralyzed by fear.

Fangs showed up in the hallway suddenly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Betty’s looking for you, Jug. What do you want me to tell her?”

A pang of anxiety lanced through Jughead’s gut. “Tell her a couple of old timers caught up with me, asking about FP.”

Fangs sighed but nodded. “Got it.” He left to deliver the lie.

Jughead steeled himself against what he’d done. “Can you get me a meeting with Tall Boy?”

Sweet Pea nodded. “Yeah. I can text him right now. Sometimes he responds pretty quick.”

Sweet Pea whipped out his phone and started typing on the screen. Jughead started to walk out of the hallway, Sweet Pea following behind. He chanced a glance at Betty who seemed to have said something that made Toni laugh rancorously.

He made his way to the jukebox, trying to preoccupy himself as he waited for Sweet Pea to tell him that Tall Boy had responded.

It took a few minutes, with Jughead looking down the song list and almost deciding on something aggressively hip hop, just to annoy the oldies.

Sweet Pea nudged him. “Tall Boy said Friday, 7AM.”

“Halloween?”

Sweet Pea shrugged. “I don’t think he cares?”

Jughead sighed. Halloween was going to be a long day.

Fangs hurried up to them again, looking a little agitated. “Jug, you’d best get back to your girl. McFadden already made the mistake of hitting on her and Gray is pissed she turned down his drink in a very public way. He’s talking trash about her to his friends as we speak. If that dickhead gets worked up any more, I’m afraid Gray’s going to do something everyone will regret.”

“Shit,” Jughead hissed. “SP, tell Tall Boy I’ll see him then. And when you’re done with that, would you mind--”

“I’ll take care of Gray. Fangs?”

“Right there with you.”

“Thanks. Fucking predator,” Jughead muttered, making his way to Betty.

She smiled brightly when she saw him and he could not help but smile back. He draped an arm over her shoulders as he took the seat beside her.

“I missed you,” she said. “For the few minutes you were gone. Is that pathetic?”

He said, “Not to me,” while Toni said, “A little.”

He threw Toni a withering look, but Betty just laughed, pressing a kiss to his lips.

As she kissed him, he cracked an eye open and watched Sweet Pea go over to Gray, grab him by the arm with a rough tug, and push him down another hallway. Gray was visibly outraged, but was not equal to Sweet Pea’s size and strength. Fangs stood by in case anyone else decided to jump in on the action. No one dared.

With that, Jughead closed his eyes to enjoy the rest of the kiss.

*******************

The morning of Halloween, Jughead woke to the sound of his phone alarm.

On the rare occasion that he woke up before Betty, he took a moment, after shutting his alarm, to run his hands through her silken hair and feel the warmth of her body pressing against his.

Gingerly, he climbed out of bed so as not to wake her. She stirred a moment, the cold air hitting her bare shoulder. He pulled his comforter more securely around her, hoping the warmth would lull her back. She slept on as he got ready.

He showered and got dressed then he set up the coffee maker to brew.

The house was still quiet, with Archie and JB both asleep in their respective rooms.

As Jughead pocketed his wallet, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over Betty’s sleeping form.

“Babe,” he whispered softly in her ear. “I gotta go.”

She stirred, smiling as she opened her eyes. She hummed as she slipped her arms over his shoulders. “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“I have something I gotta do,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ve put some coffee out for you in case you want to get up. Archie’s home so—you know, wear pants.”

Betty giggled. “Okay. Thanks for the heads up.”

He stared at her, bright eyed in spite of the slow flutter of her eyelashes. Her beautiful face, so full of trust, made his stomach constrict with guilt. “Betts, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

He paused, checked the time, and realized that he didn’t have much of it. “I can’t right now, but when we catch a moment, we can talk, okay?”

She touched his face. “Are you sure? I can get dressed and we can walk out together.”

He took her hand and kissed the palm of it, some of his guilt assuaged by the mere fact that he was trying to tell her the truth. “It can wait, but we do need to talk.”

Her brows furrowed worriedly, so he cupped her face and smoothed the pad of his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “It’s going to be alright. I love you, okay?”

“I love you, too. Jug--”

He kissed her before he pulled away and got up. “I’ll see you later at 4. Veronica’s place, right?”

She nodded. “Get there first, please? Veronica said she’s expecting some guys from the football team and I am dreading the awkwardness of any one of them getting there before you or Archie.”

He rubbed the adorable point of her chin. “I’ll be there.”

When he finally peeled himself from Betty’s side, he left his bedroom and made his way to their front door, only to pause and reconsider which jacket he was going to wear.

It wasn’t a fashion decision. He could wear an absolutely innocuous sherpa jacket and keep Tall Boy calm and unthreatened, or he could wear the Serpent jacket in some kind of display of authority.

He needed to bring Tall Boy to heel.

He went with the Serpent jacket.

************

The Whyte Wrym, so early in the morning, was devoid of any sign of life. The neon lights were off, the parking lot was mostly empty, and the front door was locked.

Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni were waiting for him there on their respective motorcycles. He hadn’t expected them, but he wasn’t surprised.

As Jughead tore off his helmet, he calmly said, “I didn’t ask you guys to be here.”

Sweet Pea scoffed. “You think we’d let you walk in there alone?”

“Tall Boy’s got a couple of guys of his own watching his back in there,” Fangs said. “You never know what’ll come of this.”

“Don’t you have something to study, Fangs?” Jughead pointed out sardonically.

“He could say the same of you, idiot,” Toni said. “I’m going to bet that if Betty knew you were doing this, you wouldn’t be here, walking into the Whyte Wyrm under Tall Boy’s terms.”

Jughead sighed, jamming his helmet onto the back of his motorcycle. “Toni, stay out of my relationship.”

“I can’t help it, bossman. She and I shared a moment last night and it has effectively made me feel guilty every time I have to lie to her.”

“You shared a moment,” Jughead drawled. “That’s great.”

Toni huffed. “You haven’t thanked me for looking out for her last night while you dicks had secret conferences in Jizz Hall.”

Jughead groaned. “Please do not call it the Jizz Hall. I am grossed out about it enough as it is. But yes, thank you for looking out for Betty last night. Although, which one of you gave McFadden my number? Because that dude has texted me a total of twenty-nine times explaining to me that he didn’t know Betty was my girlfriend. He is really getting on my nerves.”

“Yeah, that was me,” Toni said. “He gave me ten bucks for it.”

Sweet Pea laughed, nudging Toni’s shoulder in what was, no doubt, approval, while Fangs shook his head disapprovingly, saying something like, “inappropriate.” Fangs always was a stickler for procedure and protocol.

“I’m happy to see that you are profiting from my personal information, Topaz.”

“Anytime, bossman.”

Jughead shook his head, but left it at that. He walked towards the back, his friends following behind him.

Toni had a point, of course, but he was just feeling stubborn enough not to explain himself, as he did firmly believe that Toni shouldn’t be sticking her nose into his relationship with Betty. He didn’t care how many moments Toni had with her.

As they entered the back, they were met by Young Gun, one of Tall Boy’s most trusted minions, and the youngest. He was around Jughead’s age, a little older, even if the guy did act like a 40 year old. Tall Boy earned his undying loyalty when Tall Boy rescued him from an abusive uncle. Maybe because of that, the guy seemed a little frayed at the edges, but obviously, that didn’t mean Young Gun was bad. Jughead still considered him one of his guys. Young Gun may be more loyal to Tall Boy, but Jughead wasn’t going to leave him behind.

Young Gun had never treated him like an outsider. He was one of the first Serpents who called Jughead “family” and accepted him without question, more quickly than Sweet Pea or Fangs did, in fact. Jughead would never forget that about Young Gun.

“Hey man,” Young Gun said, letting them all through the door. “Heard you were here last night. Sorry I missed you.”

“Yeah, was here for a bit,” Jughead said, walking into the club, two other pairs of eyes watching him and his crew as they made their way across the dance floor. “You didn’t miss much, though. It was just me and the guys, palling around.”

“Heard you brought your girlfriend. ‘Caused a buncha guys to go nuts.”

Jughead sighed, exasperated by the fact that even big, bad Serpents liked to gossip. “I’d rather spare you the details, dude. Where’s your boss?”

“Up in his office. He’s alone.”

Jughead got the message. He looked to Sweet Pea. “You guys stay out here. I won’t be long.”

Sweet Pea nodded and took his seat among the tables. Toni and Fangs spread out and took seats of their own. It was unnerving to think that they were covering some kind of perimeter, as if Tall Boy’s guys were a threat.

But come to think of it, Jughead should be thinking of it that way. These guys have been swimming in the life he left behind the last few years. There was a time that he was like them, always guarded. He supposed he had softened over the years, forgetting that everything he did was being measured and weighed, and if he was being completely honest with himself, Toni’s assessment of this being under Tall Boy’s terms was correct, too.

He probably should’ve put off the meeting, just to show Tall Boy he wasn’t taking anybody’s orders, then again, Jughead didn’t want to delay.

Stop thinking like a corporate douchebag, he found himself thinking.

Well, too late. He was already here. He was just going to have to go about it in a way that Tall Boy didn’t expect.

He climbed the steps to the second floor landing and when he got to Tall Boy’s door, he didn’t knock. He pranced right in, to which Tall Boy frowned and said, “Didn’t Columbia teach you to knock?”

Tall Boy hadn’t changed at all. He looked a little bit older, but his facial hair and long, flowing mane had always managed to hide the fine lines carved in by time.

He seemed to be doing some bookkeeping at his desk. For what business, Jughead wasn’t sure.

“Old habits die hard,” Jughead said, alluding to how FP used to own this office and he never had to knock. Besides, the mirror lining the outer wall of the office was two-way glass. Tall Boy had seen him coming, but he was willing to let that go without comment. “Came to pay my respects, Tall Boy. Wanted to thank you personally for letting the crew roll with me at Hans’s racetrack.”

“Oh, you know. No Serpent stands alone and in unity, there’s strength.”

Whether this was Tall Boy’s way of saying he was still supporting Jughead or that he really didn’t have a choice in the matter, Jughead didn’t want to know.

Tall Boy gestured to the seats in front of his desk. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jughead didn’t take a seat. He went to the two-way glass looking out to the floor and leaned against its frame. He could see Toni down there, saying something to the guys. Probably busting some balls. “I’ll stand, thanks. I heard you were doing a bit of standing alone on your own,” Jughead said, getting straight to the point.

Tall Boy’s face was expressionless. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jughead gave a soft huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, you do. I know you’ve got Handsome and Sick Jim in on it. I know you’ve got corners on Wabashi, the park, near the high school...” He was looking at Tall Boy directly now, and the man hadn’t moved an inch. “Exactly what part about ‘We’re never going to deal drugs and guns,’ did you find so confusing, Tall Boy?”

Tall Boy began to rise from behind his desk, his eyes growing deader by the second. “Jughead, you haven’t the faintest clue what it takes to run this MC. People come to me with their shit and if all I got for them are words of comfort and inspiration, it don’t mean a goddamn thing if their mothers are snorting up last night’s dinner or their baby brother’s racking up hospital bills because he got bronchitis. You haven’t been here the last four years.”

Jughead wasn’t going to let him derail this conversation. “So this is your plan? You’re going to put the Serpents in the drug business? That goes against everything this club was established for! The Serpents were put up to fight the drugs and the guns that were getting a foothold in our neighborhood, because the cops didn’t give a shit about us. And now you’re doing exactly what the Serpents were fighting against? Well, that’ll get the cops to notice us for sure.”

“Look at you, Big Man on Campus,” Tall Boy growled. “You talk as if you never did anything illegal to get you and your crew out of a financial jam. What, were you just borrowing those fancy cars?”

Jughead laughed, harshly. “I was 16 years old and stupid. And besides that, my elders were encouraging me to do it—that included you, so there’s that. I am not proud about what I did, but you and I both know that drugs will completely poison this organization. You are going to ruin lives forever.” He walked up to the desk so he could look right into Tall Boy’s eyes. “You can probably convince some of the seniors to do this shit for you, but I’m not going to sit by while you drag my guys into this. The kids and the younger crew—they’re under my protection. That includes your boy, Young Gun out there. I won’t let you destroy their lives. This is not the way to go. I swear to God, Tall Boy, the only reason I’m not telling FP all about your little side business is because I don’t want him getting himself in trouble trying to shut your shit down from jail. But if that’s what it’ll take, I’ll do it. I’ll tell him.”

Tall Boy trembled with rage as he said, “Boy.”

Jughead knew that would get him going. While Tall Boy can probably get the younger Serpents to work for him if he threw enough drug money around, they weren’t going to go to him easy with Jughead around, and that sort of in-MC conflict wasted time and money, but if Jughead told FP about this new development, Tall Boy wasn’t just looking at losing a big chunk of support from the seniors, he would quite possibly have to face exile from the gang, and depending on how strongly some of these oldies felt about drug running—and many of them had very strong opinions about it—he may get maimed or worse.

“I don’t want that for you, Tall Boy,” Jughead said. “You looked out for me when I was down and out. I will never forget that, but you either need to stop this or you need to tell me who’s supplying this shit to you so I can cut this at the source. Or, you can leave the Serpents entirely, then we’ll come after you. I will come after you. I will destroy you and I will not lose sleep over it.”

Jughead couldn’t recall the day it clicked with him, this certainty that he would do what it takes if he needed to protect the people who depended on him, but he’d had nights when he had asked himself how far he was willing to go, and his answer was always pretty fucking far.

Maybe it had just been a series of things, like that time he threatened a man with a gun to the face when that same man’s wife, broken and bleeding, ran to her seventeen-year-old Serpent sister for protection, and that sister went to Jughead for help. Maybe it had been that time he lead the crusade to run Penny Peabody out of town because she kept sending young kids on countless illegal errands to pay for the legal fees they incurred running to her for help, being the Serpents’ counsel.

Jughead has had his moments. He rarely summoned it, but when he had to, he followed through and this was one of those those times. He wasn’t going to let Tall Boy raze the Serpents to the ground.

“Well,” Tall Boy finally said, sinking back into his seat. “I’m sure if I knew what you were talking about, we might come to some reasonable understanding.”

Jughead couldn’t believe he was just going to go on full denial mode. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You think about what I said, Tall Boy. You owe it to the Serpents to come clean.”

Tall Boy scoffed as he want back to his notebooks. “The drugs are gonna come to this town, anyway. The Ghoulies have been growing bigger and neither you nor I are strong enough to stop them. Why should they get the full share of the pie?”

“They shouldn’t,” Jughead said. “They shouldn’t be getting any pie, if you want to keep going with that metaphor. If that’s what you’re sore about then we should do what my father did; make it impossible for the Ghoulies to do business in our neighborhood. We work together to drive them and their drugs out.”

“And the payoff? Our kids might be drug free but the schools stay shitty, the medical bills are still unpaid, and daddy’s still a goddamn alcoholic. You can’t fix the problem if it’s the only solution you have.”

Jughead shook his head, frustrated at Tall Boy’s inability to get his own head out of the sand. “That’s the problem with drugs, isn’t it? It makes it so that it’ll be the only solution you think you have. I’m not going to get drawn into a circular discussion with you, Tall Boy. I’ve said what I came here to say and I need you to think about it. I’m calling you tomorrow and you’re going to tell me what your decision is. You come to the right decision tomorrow and we don’t have to speak of this again.”

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Tall Boy said.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Jughead let himself out. As he descended the steps, Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs got up. Jughead jerked his head towards the exit. “Let’s bounce. I got nothing else to say.”

The others said nothing. They simply followed him out of the Whyte Wyrm, got on their bikes, and motored out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!


	14. Bright and Shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we Jughead is straddling two sides of his life and something's gotta give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a long one.

 

 

Pressure pushing down on me

Pressing down on you no man ask for

Under pressure that brings a building down

OSplits a family in two

Puts people on streets

That's okay

It's the terror of knowing

What the world is about

Watching some good friends

Screaming 'Let me out'

Pray tomorrow gets me higher

Pressure on people people on streets

\--Under Pressure, by Queen and David Bowie

 

“Jesus H. Christ, Jughead. Three tattoos? I have to cover 3 huge ass tattoos,” Veronica cried when she saw him with his shirt off.

 

Jughead scowled at Veronica and Kevin who both looked hopelessly exasperated. He couldn’t totally blame them for complaining. They had spent the last six hours making a bunch of football players look like Dothraki warriors. He hadn’t seen Betty as Khaleesi but she was probably just as exhausted because she had been helping out.

 

Now it was finally his turn to get made up and this was what he was dealing with: their tired ass attitudes.

 

“I told you I had tattoos,” he pointed out. He wasn’t even in costume yet. The thing was hanging off the back of Kevin’s door, waiting and looking intimidatingly complicated.  

 

“God, no wonder Betty’s so gone on you,” Kevin said, making air circles with the makeup brush in his hand. “Your body screams rebellion.”

 

Jughead wanted to point out that Betty liked his finer traits and characteristics but decided that he would just let them ride out their bad moods. He wasn’t going to win this one.

 

Veronica and Kevin conferred, arguing about color palettes and shading.

 

He sighed and picked up his phone, texting Archie to come into the guest room to pick up the mood.

 

 _Because I am surrounded by two very dramatic queens who want to lop my head off,_ he said.

 

_BRT_

 

Archie walked in two seconds later in full Dothraki regalia, weapons and all. “Everything alright here?” he asked in a refreshingly upbeat tone.

 

“Your friend here is tattooed up the wazoo. Now we have to cover him up,” Veronica said with a sigh.

 

Archie slammed the door close with a flourish. “Is that all? Well, the good news is that you don’t need to touch the man-whore tattoo left of his penis ‘cause that gets covered by costume anyway.”

 

Jughead scowled at him even fiercer. “It’s _not_ left of my penis. Upper left. Strictly.”

 

Kevin arched an eyebrow. “Pity. I was looking forward to it.”

 

“Kevin,” Jughead warned.

 

Archie was unfazed. “What can I do to help? I’m here for my Khal.”

 

Veronica chuckled and shook her head. She handed Archie a bottle filled with a beige colored liquid and a brush. “Paint this stuff where the tattoos are. You don’t have to stay in the lines but keep it tight. Got it?”

 

Archie saluted with the brush. “Got it.” He immediately got to work, shaking the bottle and uncapping it.

 

“I’ll do his hair,” Kevin said with a sigh. “I swear, Jug. If you didn’t look like such a treasure, I’d leave your ass to fend for itself.”

 

“I’ll start on his eyes,” Veronica said, taking out some really black stuff. “You’re gonna be knee deep in guyliner tonight, Jug. I need you to own it.”

 

Jughead sighed in resignation. “You all know I’m only doing this because of Betty and her good causes, right?”

 

“Yes,” they all said together in a weary tone. He supposed he hadn’t let them forget it the last few days.

 

He was, however, glad his instincts about Archie were right. The guy knew how to lighten the mood.

 

“Speaking of Betty,” Archie said. “She looks smoking hot. Her blonde hair’s even blonder. Half the football team’s going bananas over her.”

 

Jughead frowned.

 

“That’s right,” Kevin said, pointedly. “Don’t you ever forget that you are dating a Goddess, Jug.”

 

“Believe me when I say I am well aware. Betty is and will forever have mythical-woman status in my eyes.” Even as he said that, however, he felt a flush of pride that Betty chose _him._ He could feel unworthy of her all he wants, but when she looked at him, he could see that he held that gaze exclusively. Never mind that every other guy they pass checks her out. She was with _him._ That’s all that mattered.

 

“I almost want to see Reggie act like a total douche and watch Jug beat him up,” Veronica said, sighing. “You can’t tell me this is all construction crew muscles, Jug. This is MMA training grade beef.”

 

Archie laughed and Jughead frowned, his face flushing.

 

“So I blow off some steam sometimes at our fitness center,” he admitted, referring to the designated gym area at their apartment. It was by no means fancy, consisting of one stationary bike, two treadmills, a set of free weights, a bench press, and yes, a punching bag and a speed bag. “I do it while I wait for my laundry to finish.”

 

“Mmm, I can see it,” Veronica said.

 

“Don’t. Don’t see it,” Jughead glowered.

 

Kevin scoffed. “Oh, just own it. You tell a bunch of gay people that you beat on other guys, we will nosedive into gutterland.”

 

Jughead frowned. “Archie did it, too. Pick on him.”

 

Archie made a noncommittal sound. “Eh, it ain’t a surprise with me. Nobody expects you to be a fighter.”

 

Jughead found that statement hilarious, considering he ran with a gang. His Serpent crew certainly doesn’t consider him passive. He may not be a hothead and bruiser like Sweet Pea, but he never backed down from a fight.

 

Jughead found himself grinning. “That’s my secret, Cap. I’ve always been a fighter.”

 

Archie shot him a look that may have been seriously displeased. Archie may act like a lunk sometimes, but he understood undercurrents, and he very well knew Jughead was referencing his gang life, especially knowing that he’d been in contact with his old crew lately.

 

Veronica, however, knew nothing about it. “Must’ve been those type of lines that got Betty all hot and bothered.”

 

Jughead didn’t deny it and it took every effort for him to ignore Kevin’s raised eyebrow and Archie’s knitted ones.

 

When they were finally done, Jughead looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the dude staring right back at him. He had a beard, for one, tied and ornamented at the front. He had a rope of longer hair at the back thanks to Kevin attaching extensions. That too was tied back by some elaborate style, no doubt.

 

His eyes were heavily lined, making him look fiercer. His tattoos were covered up, replaced by the eight blue stripes slashed down his shoulders.

 

“Jug, you look fucking awesome,” Archie said.

 

“Betty’s gonna drop her panties real fast,” said Veronica.

 

Jughead shot her a glare. “Easy!”

 

“I need to see you in costume,” Kevin declared. “Out, V. Archie and I will handle this.”

 

Veronica grinned. “You and Betty are going to have really dirty sex tonight.”

 

“Out, please,” Jughead said, teeth grit in a stiff smile.

 

Veronica laughed, letting herself out of the room.

 

*****************

 

Betty couldn’t get over how blonde she was. Her hair was naturally long so she didn’t need extensions, but she did need to do a dye job to get that platinum blonde effect. And with the styling of Khaleesi’s hair--braids, loops, and ornaments, she felt weird in her own skin.

 

The costume, though, was surprisingly comfortable. The top was a little revealing, yes. It showed most of her stomach and hips, and most of her back was visible were it not for her cascade of hair, but the material itself was surprisingly soft. Veronica had made it so that her breasts were secure, with no danger of her boobs spilling out inadvertently, and they felt perky, because there was actual support somewhere in there.

 

Her skirt was a wrap around, elaborately fitted with details and rips. She loved that her costume involved pants, because it meant no one was going to see her panties unless she wanted them to. Her boots were definitely comfortable and she liked that Veronica had given her a weapon to sling on her hip.

 

Veronica had worked hard to coordinate the costumes, telling the football players to raid their closets and parents’ attics for one thing or another so that the only things she had to buy were craft materials. Betty’s and Jughead’s costumes were far more elaborate and did require some pooling of more materials and funds. Over the last couple of weeks, Veronica put her fashion designer chops to task and Betty thought her amazing.

 

Betty fitted her gloves on her hands and wrists, glad that her scars were being covered. Veronica didn’t ask about them when she saw them, which Betty was glad for, but she very much appreciated how Veronica had gone ahead and done what she could to make them less noticeable.

 

She looked around Veronica’s huge apartment, one she will soon leave to move in with Cheryl in the next couple of weeks. It was elegantly appointed with designer furniture, Victorian chic decor in grays and purples, and with all its electronics slick and state of the art. It was incredible real estate that Betty could only dream of, expensive enough that only the wealthy and few could afford it, and yet Veronica was one of the kindest people she knew.

 

At the moment, this wide-spaced, lush apartment was littered with lounging Dothraki warriors. Most of the participating football team would be meeting them at the party, but the ones that were there took up A LOT of space. Among the ones there were Trev and Reggie.

 

Reggie was rummaging for food in Veronica’s kitchen and Trev was sketching something on his sketchpad. The rest of the guys were flipping through channels on the TV or looking through their phones.

 

Betty nudged Veronica, who was now in costume and looking beautiful in her own Dothraki outfit.

 

“Yes, my dear?” Veronica responded.

 

“Remind me again why Trev and Reggie are here.”

 

“Well, Archie invited Trev because they’re football buddies and Reggie showed up when he found out Trev would be here. He’s still hung up on this whole rivalry shit.”

 

“He knows I’m dating Jughead, right?”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Who knows. It’s Reggie. His superpower is substituting reality with his own.”

 

“Looking _hot_ Cooper!” Reggie hollered from the kitchen counter. “You’re giving me a semi.”

 

The other football players groaned and shook their heads.

 

Reggie held his hands out. “What? It’s true!”

 

“God,” Betty grumbled.

 

“Hey!” Trev yelled from the couch. “Have some respect, man! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“I’m just saying!” Reggie shot back.

 

“Guys,” Moose groaned from his seat. “Please don’t fight. Again.”

 

Trev sighed, his ears turning slightly red. “Ignore him, Betty. I don’t even know why he’s here.”

 

“We’re Dothraki, asshole,” Reggie said, opening a bag of chips that he found in the pantry. “We’re supposed to be communal.”

 

“You know that they’re fictional, right?” Betty said. “We don’t actually live communally wandering the desert on horses.”

 

“Whatever sweetcakes. You can ride my steed anytime.”

 

“Stay classy, Reg,” Veronica said, pointedly, rolling her eyes. “Keep that up and Jug’s going to beat your ass. He has MMA training, you know.”

 

Reggie looked surprised. “For serious?”

 

“For serious,” Veronica said, smugly. “Ask Archie.”

 

Betty frowned, thinking that Jughead’s MMA training should be the least of Reggie’s concerns. Jughead had an entire gang of tough guys who would probably beat him stupid with a single word from their Serpent Prince.

 

“Whatever,” Reggie grumbled. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

 

The football team laughed and started making chicken clucking sounds. Reggie finally had no comeback to throw out and Betty felt bad for him in spite of herself. After all, she’d known how it was to be scorned by many.

 

“Guys, don’t be mean,” she told them, feeling like a Kindergarten teacher. “Leave him alone.”

 

They stopped making fun of Reggie, even if they were still laughing amongst themselves.

 

Trev chuckled and looked up at Betty from the couch. “You’re too nice for your own good, Betty. Reg is a douche. He deserves it.”

 

She smirked and sat on the couch’s arm directly beside him. “I don’t think anyone deserves to be made fun of.”

 

Trev shrugged, not quite agreeing. “But you do look really nice, though. _I’d_ follow you into war.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You men and your wars. It’s the same instinct that makes you like the thrill of football.”

 

“Eh, I do it for the scholarship. I’m going to be a graphic designer in a fancy ad agency.”

 

She knew this about Trev. It’s what he told her that night they went to dinner. She looked at his pad and saw that he was actually sketching _her._

 

She felt a flush rise up her neck, but she steeled herself and nodded at the sketchpad, saying, “That’s way too nice to be me.”

 

He looked at the pad and grinned. “It’s how I see you. Does that still surprise you?”

 

She fidgeted on her seat. “Well, its been a couple of months since Juggie and I got together. Shouldn’t you be--you know, over me?”

 

He cocked a smile. “Well, I’m not. You’re not easy to get over.”

 

Betty wasn’t sure what to say about that.

 

“Did I even have a chance when you went to dinner with me?” he asked, a fond look in his eyes.

 

Her face was burning, but she replied. “Oh Trev, of course you did. When I agreed to go with you, I _did_ like you a lot, but--well…” she shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be, and Jughead--he means a lot to me.”

 

He nodded. “I get it. But you and Jug ain’t married yet. I’ll be around if you need me.” He winked and she laughed, embarrassed.

 

“Trev! Jeez!”

 

“Seriously, Betty,” he said, his face gentling. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

She gave him an affectionate but also apologetic look. She wanted to tell him that she was in it with Jughead for the long haul.

 

“I’m thinking I should stick a bloody heart in there,” Trev said, holding up the sketch, grinning. “Call it Trev’s Heart.”

 

If she didn’t see the hint of mischief on Trev’s eyes, she would’ve been afraid that it might not have been a joke, but his eyes were glinting.

 

“Oh, stop!” she gasped, red-faced.

 

“Hey, quit trying to charm my girlfriend,” she heard Jughead say behind them.

 

Betty giggled and looked over her shoulder at him, but she was shocked to see how the person standing behind her looked _nothing_ like Jughead. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the menacing but utterly gorgeous Dothraki leader. His costume was so close to the real thing that she could hardly tell it was homemade, and she never realized how nice Jughead’s upper body mass definition was until now, wearing what was essentially a leather wrap of belts around his torso, like a corset, but for a warlord in a fantasy fiction setting.

 

His hair and makeup were amazing, down to the knots of his beard to the nick on his eyebrow, and the two prop swords sticking out of his sides looked totally badass. But then she could see him through his eyes, those blue as the ocean pupils of his that shot heat through her every time they looked at her with his piercing gaze.

 

Those same eyes were looking her over with a gaze akin to hunger, then his half-smirk slowly appeared on his lips, smug and bursting with confidence.

 

She felt her stomach flutter as heat pooled between her legs.

 

“Holy fuck,” Veronica gasped. “You look even better than I thought you would! We are so going to win this!”

 

The Dothraki horde in their living room made woofing sounds and it was complete madness for a few seconds.

 

Betty didn’t say anything. She just ran straight into Jughead’s arms and planted a solidly steamy kiss on his lips right in front of everybody. Jughead smiled into the kiss, lifting her off the floor by her waist, which created even more obnoxious whooping.

 

He seemed so much bigger now and Betty couldn’t help but wonder if Veronica added some to his already towering frame.

 

“You’re so tall!” she breathed, nonsensically. Truly, Jughead was making her dizzy right now, he was so hot.

 

He chuckled. “Yeah. Veronica added something in the shoes.” He didn’t quite put her down just yet. “You look absolutely breathtaking, Betts. Moon of my life.”

 

She giggled and kissed him. “My sun and stars.”

 

“Take note, boys!” Kevin declared loudly. “That is how to keep a woman! Read books and know. Your. Shit!”

 

“My man!” Archie whooped, pounding Jughead on the back.

 

“I’m going to get into costume,” Kevin said. “Archie, it is your solemn duty to make sure that the Khal and Khaleesi don’t tear each other’s clothes off. Please separate them for now.”

 

“Put her down, dude,” Archie told him.

 

“I can just carry her around all night,” Jughead said, swinging her into his arms to cradle her easily.

 

She shrieked and laughed. Sometimes, Jughead’s strength really astounded her and she had to remind herself that he had practice carrying heavy things around.

 

“No, no,” Veronica told them sternly. “Wait until after the contest to get into each other’s pants. Remove yourself from Jug, please, B. I worked pretty hard on your hair.”

 

Betty sighed, touching Jughead’s bearded face. She pouted. “Okay.”

 

Jughead laughed and set her gently down.

 

“Come on,” Veronica said, pulling her away by the hand. “Let’s not tempt fate. Sit here.”

 

Betty let Veronica settle her on a sofa chair.

 

Jughead winked at her as he made his way to the kitchen to have some of the chips that Reggie had opened, but apparently he hadn’t realized it was Reggie until Jughead saw him up close.

 

Betty tried not to laugh when she saw the wary look Reggie cast Jughead.

 

Jughead scowled, popping chips into his mouth. “Hell are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Trying to dude bro your girlfriend, apparently,” Moose said.

 

Reggie shot Moose a deadly look while everyone laughed rowdily.

 

Jughead kept looking at Reggie, a neutral expression in his Khal Drogo face, eating chips right off Reggie’s bag.

 

“Oh, yeah?” was all Jughead said, which Betty admitted was effectively intimidating. “Like how?”

 

 _Uh oh,_ Betty thought.

 

Moose began to speak, “He said that sh--”

 

“Alright, we’re not getting into that,” Betty said, firmly. “Juggie? Can you just please...?”

 

 _Not beat the fucking crap out of him?_ she didn’t know if she somehow telepathically transmitted that, but Jughead seemed to pause, scowl, and then flash Reggie a menacing look.

 

Reggie looked away awkwardly.

 

Still scowling, he grabbed the entire bag of chips away from Reggie. “Whatever you want, babe.”

 

“Oh, man,” Archie said, laughing hysterically as he tapped Reggie at the back of the head. “Care to take that foot out of your mouth?”

 

Reggie glared at Archie, but said nothing.

 

“Using your powers for good, I see,” Trev said to Betty with a toothy grin. “I dig it.”

 

“Stop flirting with her,” Jughead said, though his tone had none of the menace he had directed at Reggie only seconds before.

 

“Whatever. I still remember when you knocked my stuff off my desk to get to Betty first,” Trev said.

 

Betty frowned. “What?”

 

“I plead the fifth,” Jughead said.

 

Trev rolled his eyes. “Your man here is scrappy. When we were pairing off at photojournalism class, he knew I was gunning for you so he knocked my books off my desk so he can get to you before I can.”

 

Veronica and Archie laughed uproariously with everyone else.

 

Betty’s jaw dropped. “Juggie, is this true?”

 

Juggie shrugged, though he had the grace to blush. “I wasn’t gonna take any chances! Trev’s charming as hell.”

 

“Credit where credit is due, man,” Moose said. “Respect!”

 

Trev gave Jughead a gracious salute.

 

Betty arched a pointed eyebrow at both boys for their childish behavior, but she couldn’t help the little thrill that went through her. The little ways that Jughead showed her how crazy he was for her never ceases to please her.

 

“You’re all up on my case, Jones,” Reggie said. “But you should be watching out for that cat over there. Trev’s been batting his eyelashes at Betty since he got here.”

 

Jughead scowled. “But he keeps it respectful, Reg, so he’s cool. It’s up to Betty if she wants to leave my sorry ass for him. You, on the other hand, are a total gorilla. So yeah, I’m all up on your case. Don’t talk to her that way.”

 

Trev nodded, seeming impressed. “Not bad, Jones.”

 

It was Jughead’s turn to give him a salute.

 

Betty smiled, adoring Jughead even more. He was definitely going to get some tonight.

 

**************

 

They did make a huge impression at the Halloween party, and Jughead didn’t even have to act. He was absolutely himself. Scowling, refusing to talk to anybody, and just generally looking like he wished he were somewhere else.

 

Betty was an ethereal Khaleesi with a dragon prop on her shoulder. Her entourage of Veronica and Kevin were a nice touch to the rowdy horde following them.

 

They didn’t practice any kind of acting for any of this, but when the football team went into their training march, the one they practiced every morning, it was certainly entertaining and impressive to watch.

 

So of course when the votes were cast and counted, their team won by a landslide.

 

The prize, everyone found out, was a $10,000 donation to the charity of your choice, the certificate of which Veronica happily presented to Betty.

 

Betty was beyond touched, reduced to tears that she couldn’t laugh away. She knew, of course, that she would be entrusted with the certificate. She would be splitting it between two organizations she’d been supporting since recovering from her ordeal in high school: the Human Voice project, which helps support kids and families to cope with depression and suicide, and the substance abuse recovery organization called Dreaming Sober, also a family inclusive program. Her causes had been the reason they did this after all, but it was still overwhelming. It wasn’t as if everyone knew _why_ she was helping these organizations in particular. Only Kevin and Jughead knew, and Veronica probably suspected.

 

Jughead put his arm around her to squeeze her shoulders, kissing the top of her head saying, “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, sniffing. “It just hit me, you know? This is going to help a lot of people.”

 

“I have to admit,” Veronica said, eyes aglow. “It was one of my more inspired ideas!”

 

Betty was very much willing to give Veronica the credit for all of this because this was her hard work. Veronica made it happen. She threw her arms around her friend. “You have a heart of gold, V. Truly, you are an angel. This was _all you._ ”

 

“Ah, well,” Veronica said, pulling away. Betty would swear her eyes were a little glassy. “I learn from my betters.”  Veronica tapped Betty’s nose pointedly.  “I have a lot of things to make up for.”

 

Kevin draped an arm over Veronica’s shoulders. “Honey, you are doing great! Don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t doing your part.”

 

“You guys are awesome,” Veronica said, wiping her eyes.  

 

Betty grinned and joined Veronica in thanking everyone who had helped and participated, including, of course, the football team.

 

They even gave Reggie a hug, which he of course took full advantage of by demanding a picture with both of them that he could post on his Instagram.

 

Jughead, who had taken the picture for them, arched an eyebrow. “Your caption better be respectful, Reggie.”

 

“I’m sure he can manage that, right Reg?” Betty said as Jughead handed him back his phone.

 

“It’ll be respectful,” Reggie muttered, shooting Jughead a glare.

 

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Well, try not to short-circuit your brain while you’re at it.”

 

Betty sought Cheryl, too, because this would not have been possible without the Blossom coffers.

 

“Do you just have $10,000 lying around to give away?” Betty asked her, teasingly.

 

Cheryl scoffed. “Bitch, please. It’s for tax breaks. It’s the only way I can justify to daddy the expense of this shindig, but be that as it may, I’m glad I can help, little cousin. You stick with the Blossoms, you go places.”

 

Betty was sure that was true, but she preferred to make her own way. She didn’t tell Cheryl that, however. It sounded ungracious, and she believed that deep down, Cheryl had it in her to help other people.

 

Social obligation met, she sought Jughead who had, of course, by now retreated to the library.

 

She grinned when she saw Khal Drogo sitting in exactly the same way she found him that September night, almost two months ago. Book in his hand, booted foot up on a footstool, and slouched down in a reading chair.

 

He had peeled off the fake facial hair, which Betty figured would be the first thing to go. He had been complaining about it all night, and judging by the redness of his skin where the beard had been attached, the thing hadn’t come off easy.

 

Instead of taking the other reading chair, however, she curled herself up on his lap, trailing her finger gently against the red marks on his face. “This must’ve stung.”

 

He gave a long suffering sigh and nodded. “I thought doing it quick would lessen the pain. It didn’t.”

 

She laughed softly and kissed the reddest spot, smoothing it over with her thumb. He started trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck, and she couldn’t help but breathe out a happy purr.

 

“I knew you’d come looking here,” he said, his hand creeping into her top to cup her breast.

 

She smiled, tracing her finger along his jaw then tilting his face up by his chin. She planted a searing kiss on his lips, his tongue probing for hers immediately.

 

They kissed for several minutes, Jughead’s hand kneading her breasts gently as they did. When his thumb grazed over her nipple, it sent an electric ripple through her body.

 

“Are you gonna fuck me here, Khal Drogo?”

 

“I have a better idea.”

 

Jughead got to his feet and pulled her with him by the hand. He took them out of the library and down the hall. Her curiosity became a raging desire when she realized where they were headed.

 

He turned and smirked, leading her into the closet walking backwards. “What do you say we finish what we started in this storage closet?”

 

Betty wanted nothing more than to do just that. Jughead was barely through the threshold when she hopped and wrapped her legs around his hips. He easily carried her through the door, shut them in, and sat her on a rather shaky utility table.

 

She giggled at the cramped quarters and he chuckled at how his head was practically hitting the ceiling.

 

“I remember this,” he said as his fingers deftly began to undo one of her boots. “I actually wanted to carry a conversation with you.” One boot came off and he started working on the other.

 

She grinned, looking for the buckle of his belt and fiddling with the hooks. “I had other plans. I sincerely aimed to get out of it sober, but I also wanted to kiss you.”

 

Her other boot came off and he started working on the buttons of her pants underneath the wrap around skirt. “I could only hope.”

 

“You’re so cute, Juggie. Didn’t you know by then how attracted I was to you?” His belt came off and fell to the floor, taking with it the loincloth that it held up around his waist. She started working on the ties of his pants.

 

“Why would I even assume that?” he asked. “You’re gorgeous and smart and I’m weird and sarcastic.”  He tugged her loosened pants down her hips and ass. “Up, baby.”

 

She pushed her hips up and he pulled them off with her panties. She chuckled and sighed with relief as she managed to pull one leg out and then the other.

 

“God, you’re flexible,” he whispered, taking a lobe of her ear between his teeth, gently.

 

The contact sent ripples of pleasure through her and she moaned. “That’s two years of cheerleading. Those high kicks and air splits were no joke.”

 

His chuckle reverberated through her neck and down her body, which was now naked underneath her skirt. He didn’t wait in the slightest. His fingers were quickly rubbing the folds between her legs and she gave a keening gasp, throwing her head back.

 

“J-Juggie, _oh God yes,”_ she breathed. “I was _so_ attracted to you and girls are _always_ attracted to you. You have no fucking idea.”

 

“Are we still talking about that?” he asked in a low voice, cupping her face with his other hand. His thumb tilted her chin up gently as his mouth clamped over her throat. His tongue tasted the sensitive skin there while his fingers slowly moved in and out of her. His other thumb rubbed her clit firmly and she thought she might go insane.

 

Her train of thought was completely gone. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

 

“I won’t baby,” he whispered, curling his fingers inside her as his lips sought hers.

 

She made a sound of pleasure while her tongue tangled with his and as the movement of his fingers intensified, her orgasm came in a wave. She thrust her hips up against his hand and cried loudly as her climax overwhelmed her.

 

“ _That_ is a sound I’ll never grow tired of,” Jughead said, smiling gently as he kissed her neck.

 

Her labored breathing filled the quiet of the room.

 

“Pants. Off,” she ordered him.

 

Desperately, he tried to push down his pants and boxers. She offered him help when his long limbs banged against the walls.

 

Giggling, she slid the fabric down his hips. She grasped his hardened cock and slid her hand up and down his length.

 

Moaning, he threw his head back and banged it softly against the door. “Fuck, that’s good, baby. Did you bring a condom?”

 

“This skirt has pockets,” she breathed, taking out a packet. She tore the packet open and Jughead, hastily, helped her slide the condom on.

 

“I want you really bad,” he said, throwing her arms over his shoulders and hitching her legs to line himself up.

 

She pulled herself up against him and he entered her easily. She sighed happily, feeling herself fit around him.

 

“Fuck, yeah,” he moaned in her ear. His hands clamped on her ass and he started to move against her.

 

She met his thrusts with fervor. The table underneath her shook and things in the closet started to rattle noisily, mixing with their combined groans of pleasure.

 

“This is so goddamn hot,” Jughead gasped. “Is this good for you?”

 

“So good, Juggie,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder. “But I want you to go harder.”

 

At that, he lifted her, easily, and turned them around, so that it was her back against the door. His hand came between them so he could rub her clit while he thrust furiously into her.

 

Their movements rattled the door noisily, but neither of them cared.

 

Betty wailed her approval, gasping his name. She was close and he knew it.

 

“I’m coming, Betts,” he moaned desperately.

 

She nodded wordlessly, crying out as her orgasm crashed over her, sending her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

 

He was right there with her, his thrust deepening once, then twice; his orgasm clearly upon him with the press of his hips and deep groan from his throat.

 

When their orgasms were completely spent, all they could do for a minute was stay completely rooted to their spot, catching their breaths in stunned silence.

 

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Jughead groaned against her throat.

 

She moaned in agreement. “I think I wanted you to do that to me the first night we met.”

 

“I am _sure_ I wanted to do that to you the first night we met.”

 

She giggled breathlessly. “This was a great idea, Juggie.”

 

“I’m a writer. Great ideas are what gets food on the table.”

 

She laughed. “Maybe you should write erotic fiction.”

 

“I would be a kickass erotic fiction writer,” he said, breathlessly. “I’d have to write under a woman’s name, though. Male erotic writers aren’t marketable.”

 

She ran her finger against his cheek. “Will you write about me?”

 

“I’ll be thinking of you when I write it. It will be riddled with spelling errors and bad grammar. And I will probably have to fuck you constantly or jack off everytime I finish a chapter.”

 

She smiled, finding his lewd imaginings delightful. “We need to do this closet sex again.”

 

“And piss Cheryl off? Definitely.”

 

************

 

Saturday was the day Jughead would be taking Betty’s friends to the Whyte Wyrm.  He didn’t quite know how his friends would mesh with the likes of Veronica and Cheryl, basically two women who lived the absolute opposite life that his friends lived, but he was hoping that Veronica and Kevin’s charms, along with Cheryl’s venomous wit, would win them over quickly enough to make this get together pleasant for them all.

 

He was vehemently against the idea at first, telling Betty that while the Whyte Wyrm usually had a lot of “muggles” coming for karaoke night, the bar would _still_ be rampant with Serpents. “And then of course there’s the entire thing of me being in a gang…”

 

Betty had cupped his face in her hands, tilting her gaze as she looked at him. “Baby, Kev already knows and Veronica doesn’t care, and because Veronica loves me, she will manage Cheryl.  I doubt Cheryl will make a big deal of it, anyway. She’s an adult and is rich enough to do whatever the fuck she wants, but I promise you, this is for a good cause. This isn’t just a random night of fun.”

 

“Yeah, wanna clue me in on that?”

 

Betty thought about it. “Eh, I don’t want to jinx it. But I will tell you that we are going to own that karaoke stage like you’ve never seen.”

 

Jughead stamped down that hint of anxiety at what sort of thing Betty had up her sleeve. This wasn’t just a hangout for him, either. He needed to corner Tall Boy because the man was flat out avoiding his calls.

 

That morning, Tall Boy had stonewalled him over the phone, refusing to talk to him. Jughead had tried to talk to him through Sweet Pea’s phone, Young Gun’s, and finally the bar’s landline. Tall Boy didn’t tell him to fuck off, which left Tall Boy a lot of room to back track or play innocent when push came to shove, but if Jughead wanted to find out what Tall Boy’s final say was on this whole drug issue, it would have to be face to face.

 

What Jughead needed was a show of power without reducing the evening to an all out bar brawl, so he texted Sweet Pea, telling him he needed support.

 

**_But no fighting. Betty will be there with a couple of her friends. I don’t need her getting caught in some crossfire because a bunch of boneheads can’t hold their tempers._ **

 

Sweet Pea’s only response had been, **_Are they as gorgeous as she is?_ **

 

Jughead had to resist the urge to overthink _that_ statement. Sweet Pea had always been kind of a hardass and he didn’t dole out compliments that easily, _especially_ with the opposite sex. He considered it a sign of weakness. He gave dispassionate compliments like: “Major upgrade” or “Oh, fuck.” But “As gorgeous as she is” was strangely the most personal compliment Sweet Pea has ever given, and it made Jughead squeamish. Like, _shit. Sweet Pea actually thinks of Betty this way._ And it was weird as hell.

 

It wasn’t that he thought Sweet Pea had some kind of secret longing for Betty. It wasn’t that, but it definitely meant that Sweet Pea was getting into some mindset that Betty wasn’t _other._ Betty was getting inducted into Sweet Pea’s personal circle.  

 

In some ways it was good. It was assurance that so long as Sweet Pea was there, Betty would be protected at all costs, but then it was also making Jughead the slightest bit uneasy, that he was drawing Betty in much, much deeper into the Serpents than he thought.

 

 _Of course, now, I’m overthinking it,_ Jughead thought, frustrated.

 

Frowning, he typed back, **_Ain’t no one as gorgeous as Betty._ **

 

Sweet Pea typed an eye roll emoji. **_God, you’re a fucking cheeseball. Are they cute or not?_ **

 

Jughead couldn’t lie. **_They’re incredibly good looking._ **

 

**_Now we’re talking._ **

 

So that night, for the first time in Jughead’s life, he rolled into the Whyte Wyrm’s parking lot in a limo with three beautiful women and a good looking gay dude.

 

They looked stunning, dressed in what Jughead could only describe as their club best. Cheryl in red, Veronica in a dark purple, and Betty in a figure hugging little white dress and nude high heels that was already driving him bananas. The Serpent armlet was back, which only made things worse (or better).

 

Kevin had opted for black leather, more stylish than tough, if the little flairs of bling on his coat was any indication, but he wouldn’t be Kevin, otherwise.

 

Jughead didn’t go _too_ out of his way to dress differently, because he didn’t know if he could live down Sweet Pea’s ridicule, or worse, Toni’s wild laughter.

 

When the limo came to a halt, Jughead took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping out. Kevin followed after him, his face filled with awe and complete glee.

 

“Jughead, you’ve been holding out on us,” Kevin said over his shoulder, his eyes moving over to the group of younger bikers, most of them clad in full black leather.

 

Jughead knew them, of course, and he could probably introduce Kevin later. As it was, they nodded in his direction, but then the ladies started stepping out of the car and the collective mood on the parking lot shifted noticeably. Bikers stood straighter, heads turned, and groups converged. It wasn’t just that the women were beautiful, it was that they came with _him._

 

Jughead sighed quietly to himself.

 

Betty slipped an arm around his. “It’s going to be fine, Juggie.”

 

“Oh, I know.”

 

As they walked up to the steps of the Whyte Wyrm, Jughead could see Sweet Pea waiting. He looked floored.

 

“Jones,” Sweet Pea said, greeting Jughead with their standard shake, shoulder, and pat, completely distracted the entire time.

 

“Yeah,” Jughead said, smirking. “My eyes are up here.”

 

“Yeah, who gives a fuck? Betty! These your friends?”

 

And suddenly, Jughead had gotten pushed to the side, mostly because Sweet Pea had now lumbered to Betty’s side so she could introduce him.

 

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” Betty said. “This is Veronica Lodge, Cheryl Blossom, and my best friend, Kevin Keller. Guys, this is Sweet Pea.”

 

Kevin gave Sweet Pea a decidedly sticky once over. “Exactly what is sweet about you, Sweet Pea? All I see is spicy.”

 

“Jesus, Kev,” Betty muttered.

 

Sweet Pea reddened visibly and probably did not know what to say.

 

“Kevin,” Veronica said in a gently scolding tone. “How about you go easy on him and let me and Cheryl have this one? I’m sure there are a _ton_ of cute boys inside.” She looped her arm around Sweet Pea’s. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Sweet Pea smirked just as Cheryl took his other side, her eyebrow raised. “Yes, nice. Sweet Pea, I have my doubts that you can handle us, honestly.”

 

“Oh, I can handle you two just fine,” Sweet Pea said, smirking. “Right this way, ladies.” He led them through the doors.

 

Jughead sidled up to Betty and Kevin. “Are you going to tell him?”

 

“But he looks so happy,” Betty said, sighing.

 

Kevin grinned. “I wanna see the look on his face when V and Cheryl start to make out!”

 

Jughead didn’t think that would be unpleasant for Sweet Pea at all. “He is _probably_ going to enjoy it.”

 

“Let’s go inside and look for Toni,” Betty said. “I want to make sure she meets everyone.”

 

They walked through the doors and as Betty looked over the crowd, Jughead felt Kevin nudge him.

 

“So, does your gang have any gay guys? Because I did not come here just to sing karaoke.”

 

Jughead smirked and clapped a passing Serpent. “Hey, Skinny. You seen Joaquin and his guys?”

 

Skinny nodded. “Yeah, dude. By the stage.”

 

“There she is!” Betty cried, pointing to Toni who was sitting in the middle of a group of Serpent women.

 

Jughead always thought that karaoke night was much more chaotic than any night, what with all the non-Serpents adding to the mix, but he did manage to get Betty to Toni, then he was able to introduce Kevin to Joaquin. Finally, he was able to tell Sweet Pea that Cheryl and Veronica were together.

 

Sweet Pea scoffed. “Who cares? I’m just having fun, J. It’s karaoke night. Betty looks like a million bucks, a couple of beautiful vamps have attached themselves to me at their whim, I can see your friend Kevin over there having the time of his life, and Fangs is murdering American Woman up on stage without anyone throwing something at him yet. I ain’t complaining.”

 

Jughead did notice that Fangs was doing a horrible job of the song, but people were just drunk enough or baked enough to sing with him.

 

“I got things on my mind, Sweet Pea,” Jughead said in a confidential tone. “You know you gotta help me out with this.”

 

Sweet Pea nodded. “And we got you, I promise. But J, you can’t expect to bring 3 beautiful women into the Whyte Wyrm and _not_ have a little fun, right?”

 

Sometimes Jughead wondered if Sweet Pea hadn’t just always been a darker version of Archie.

 

“Sweet Pea!” Veronica called. “Come with us to the bar! Cher and I want to buy you a drink.”

 

Sweet Pea grinned and walked over to them both, putting his arms over their shoulders. “Ladies, I’ll do whatever the hell you want me to do.”

 

They laughed and walked altogether to the bar.

 

Betty had finally pried Toni from the group of women and got her to sit at their table. Jughead joined them.

 

“So after Sweet Pea gets back with V and Cher, I want to introduce you, Toni,” Betty said.

 

Jughead finally got a good look at Toni. She looked a little more polished than usual, the fabrics of her black outfit were more solid than sheer. Her hair was tied back neatly, too, and her makeup looked more subtle.

 

“You cleaned up,” Jughead pointed out.

 

“Well, don’t look so surprised, dickhead,” Toni muttered.

 

Betty shot him a chastising look and put an arm around Toni protectively. “She looks _great_ , Jughead. And she’s going to wow V and Cher.”

 

Jughead arched an eyebrow. “Why does she need to wow them, again?”

 

Sweet Pea, Veronica, and Cheryl returned. They all had drinks and Sweet Pea was waving over a server to bring over the tray of drinks for everyone else.

 

Betty introduced Veronica and Cheryl to Toni.

 

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Veronica said, shaking Toni's hand. “And I like what you’re thinking.”

 

Cheryl gave Toni the once over and smiled, pleased. “I like the idea of showing up a bunch of fogies. I’m intrigued by your vision.”

 

And then it was like a switch. Toni glowed, intense and passionate. She was all over it, telling them her plans for the bar. How she intends to make it profitable and updated.

 

“I don’t want to kick out the Serpents at all, so if they have the jacket, they pay the old prices. They are the primary clientele, after all, but on weekends, money should be coming in from guests outside of the MC. Karaoke night is the single biggest earner of the week. In a month, it makes up most of the profit, and it’s all because we get money from outsiders. From guests that are _not_ Serpents. Who’s idea was it? Mine. Had to fight tooth and nail to get it going, but I got it set up and now it’s a regular thing. If I can run this joint, I can get non-Serpents to pay a bit more with better drinks and better stripper acts. I’ve got guys who can bounce to protect the girls. We’ll be able to get a DJ. We’ll spruce up the menu. I know this all sounds like big talk, but I’ve got all these plans written up. The look of the place doesn’t need to change, but we do need to freshen it up…”

 

Through the entire speil, Jughead was realizing what Veronica and Cheryl were doing here. Sweet Pea seemed to be realizing it, too, but even _he_ looked intrigued instead of repulsed.

 

Change was wiggling its way into the Serpents, and Jughead realized that Toni’s plans for domination were the least of it.

 

He turned to Betty. “What did you do?”

 

She sighed and smiled, watching Toni for a few seconds, probably just to make sure she was good on her own, before turning to Jughead and pulling him aside.

 

“I don’t know if V and Cher will say yes, and Toni knows it’s a long shot, but I know that they were intrigued when I told them about Toni and the Whyte Wyrm, her challenges, and what she wants to do with it. Those two have been thinking of ways to invest their combined money, and it was just natural that they might want to help a fellow lady, especially someone from the LGBT community. Even if they invest only in part, it would be enough for the bank, or someone else to grant Toni something because she’ll have the backing of a Lodge and a Blossom. It’s not so simple, I know. It can probably get hairy, but we won’t know until they try, right?”

 

Jughead pulled Betty closer and pressed a kiss to her shoulder tenderly. She grinned softly but didn’t pull away.

 

“What was that for?” she asked.

 

“That was for being you. I love you.”

 

She smiled up at him. “It’s not without an ulterior motive, Juggie. If this works out, this can mean a ripple effect on the rest of the Serpents and this community. Toni wants to run this place better because she wants to be able to help the members, and then the members can help everyone else. And Juggie… _you_ don’t have to worry about the Serpents getting into things they shouldn’t be getting into and…” She looked at him, her smile was just the slightest bit dimmer, and her eyes were soft with worry.

 

Jughead’s heart cracked just the tiniest bit. “Baby…”  

 

He wanted to tell her it was a fantastic long term solution, that it was a step in the direction that Jughead had always wanted to take the Serpents, but there were immediate issues that needed fixing _now._

 

She looked so earnest and worried that he took her face in his hands and sighed. “Betty, I want you to know—“

 

“Jughead,” Sweet Pea called.

 

Stifling a growl of frustration, he looked and saw Sweet Pea jerk his head in the direction of the doors.

 

Tall Boy had just walked in with his crew. Jughead pursed his lips. He needed to catch Tall Boy _now_ or else the man was just going to avoid him again. If he were being completely honest, he was growing increasingly furious about how Tall Boy was giving him the runaround.  

 

“Jughead,” Betty said, softly, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

 

He tore his gaze from Tall Boy and saw Betty looking at him pleadingly. Her gaze shifted to Tall Boy quickly before it returned to meet his eyes.

 

“That’s Tall Boy, isn’t it?” she asked.

 

He didn’t realize how intense his gaze was until the pads of her fingers grazed his tense and wrinkled brow.

 

“Betty, I’ll be right back,” he said, his eyes softening in apology.

 

Her own brows knitted, but she nodded and he felt the slightest bit absolved of doing Serpent business while she was with him. He caught Sweet Pea’s eye and tipped his head in Tall Boy’s direction.

 

Sweet Pea immediately fell into step beside Jughead. “The others are looking.”

 

Jughead saw them, the eyes of the younger crew waiting for him to summon them. They shifted in their seats, some already rising, some already walking in their direction, tensing and ready to pounce. “They just need to stay where they are. Like I said, I don’t want a brawl, but I want them to make their presence known. Tall Boy has to see what he’s up against.”

 

Sweet Pea eyed the other Serpents, as if to hold them in place. Jughead could see that they had ceased to advance. They were waiting, and that’s all that Jughead needed at the moment.

 

Jughead sauntered up to Tall Boy, who was already settling on a table in front of the stage. Jughead joined him at the table, letting Sweet Pea handle the uneasy twitching of the older Serpent’s crew.

 

“You’re avoiding my calls,” Jughead said. It was a statement, not a question. “It almost makes me think that you have no intention of cooperating with me.”

 

Tall Boy, seeming unfazed, scoffed. “Cooperating with what?”

 

Jughead had hoped Tall Boy wouldn’t fight him on this, but it seemed that Tall Boy was sticking to his guns. The drugs, it looked like, were staying. “Who’s your source, Tall Boy?”

 

“I don’t owe you anything, boy. And for all I know, you just want that information for yourself.”

 

Jughead chuckled as he shook his head in disappointment. “Oh, Tall Boy. I really wish you had just told me. It was simple until now.” Whatever this was, it was bigger than Tall Boy being stubborn, because it was apparently overriding the fear of expulsion or even physical suffering, suffering that many of the older Serpents had no problem doling out. “Now you have to ask yourself if it’s worth it.”

 

“You got no proof, kid,” Tall Boy said mildly. “Before you can go to anyone with this, you need proof and you got nothing, now until you got something you can use, I want to enjoy karaoke night.”

 

Jughead could feel his jaw clenching.  Tall Boy was right, of course. Even if Jughead was pretty sure that the Serpents would believe him if he told them Tall Boy was dealing, they needed proof to kick Tall Boy out. And Jughead was serious about making FP a last resort. Jughead wasn’t going to be the reason his father would have to stay in jail longer.

 

He leaned over the table so that no one but Tall Boy can hear him. “If this is the way you want to go Tall Boy, then it’s on. Do you hear me? I told you I’d destroy you and that’s what I’m going to do. Look around you. Do you see them?”

 

Tall Boy said nothing, but he did look around him, and they were surrounded by Serpents, the younger ones, men and women, leaning over the railings, standing out from the crowd, staring right at their table and waiting for Jughead to say the word.  

 

“They listen to _me,”_ Jughead said, his voice low and harsh. “I want you to understand who you’re going up against, Tall Boy. I’m not that 15 year old kid you recruited anymore. You let me know if you change your mind, but as of right now, I’m coming for you and I’m making it my personal mission to take you down.”

 

Jughead stood from Tall Boy’s table and Sweet Pea followed.  

 

“Everything alright, chief?” McFadden asked from the side.

 

Jughead nodded. “Yeah. Fall back.”  

 

McFadden disappeared into the crowd, and gradually, the Serpents blended back into the Saturday karaoke crowd, from the first floor to the second. It was like a silent signal that traveled through the club.

 

When Jughead and Sweet Pea were far enough away from Tall Boy and his crew, Sweet Pea clamped a hand on Jughead’s shoulder.

 

“Are you really going head to head with Tall Boy, after all these years?”

 

Jughead paused, trying to uncoil the knot of anxiety in his belly. He wasn’t afraid of Tall Boy and that’s what worried him the most. How far was he going to chase this rabbit down the hole?

 

“I could,” Jughead said. “Tall Boy doesn’t scare me, Sweet Pea. Not anymore, but should I?”

 

“Hell, yeah. Take your rightful place as head of the Serpents!”

 

Jughead winced.  That is not what he wanted, but he didn’t think he could have this discussion with Sweet Pea right now.  “We’ll talk later. With Fangs and Toni.” He looked over Sweet Pea’s shoulder and saw Betty looking his way.  

 

He needed to talk to her. Right now.

 

Walking past Sweet Pea, he went to her, taking her hand.  

 

“Got a second?” he asked.

 

She looked over her shoulder at Toni, talking animatedly with Veronica and Cheryl.  “I think so.”

 

Jughead nodded at Sweet Pea who nodded back and joined the girls at the table.  

 

“Jug, what is it?” Betty asked.  

 

“Let’s go outside.”

 

He pulled her out through the back, where it was quieter. The alley was filthy, with the garbage bins leaking trash, but it was slightly better than Jizz Hall. He led her up to the side, where the fire escape was.  He went to a small shed, lifted the lid and found a couple of crowbars. He took one and hefted it, walking beneath the fire escape.

 

“What are you doing?” Betty asked.

 

“It’s too noisy in there and I need somewhere private and quiet to talk to you,” he said, jumping and hooking the end of the crowbar onto the last rung of the ladder. He hung there for about two seconds before the weight of his own body finally began to get the ladder to slide down.  “Back when we were in high school, the guys and I would use the fire escape to smoke weed. We also used this place to talk privately about stealing cars and shit that you didn’t want other people to overhear.” When his feet were back on solid ground, he pulled the ladder down as low as it could go and held it.  He set the crowbar aside and put his hand out for her. “After you, m’ lady.”

 

She laughed softly and took his hand, then she made her way up the ladder. He followed after her, grinning as he saw up her skirt.  

 

“I knew it. This was just a ploy to get your jollies,” Betty joked as she made it up the first landing.  “You didn’t bring Toni up here to make out with her when you were together, did you?”

 

“Now, do you really want to know, babe?” This was, of course, an answer that just confirmed her suspicions. He copped a feel of her ass, hoping to deflect, which only made her laugh.  

 

“Jug, really,” she scolded teasingly, slipping her hands into his jacket so she can run her hands up his sides.

 

He grinned.  “You need to go up another flight.”

 

“Fine.”  She climbed and he followed. When they got to the top landing, it was solid underneath, with less likelihood of anyone seeing up her skirt if someone looked up at them.  At the top of the fire escape was a door and it was locked.  

 

“This is an interesting view,” she said.  Looking down, they could see the alleyway leading out to the parking lot out front, but the view of _them_ was obscured by taller structures. Unless someone was looking up from the alleyway below, no one would see them there.  

 

“It’s private and quiet,” Jughead said.  “Betty, I’ve been meaning to tell you this but I didn’t know how…”

 

The brightness in her eyes dimmed and she stepped closer, letting his arm come around her waist.  “Jug, you can tell me anything. You know that.”

 

He nodded, running his hand up her arm. “I never want to worry you.”

 

“Just tell me,” she encouraged him, gently.

 

He took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’ve been asking Sweet Pea to find things out about Tall Boy, figuring out if he’s been dealing drugs, for sure.  Sweet Pea got me a couple of leads--where Tall Boy’s corners are, who deals his drugs for him, and who among the Serpents he has working for him. I confronted Tall Boy with this information and its true, Betty. He’s dealing and now he doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to tell me his source, either.”

 

Her fingers curled around the front of his shirt, her eyes crinkling with worry. “Are you going to help them stop Tall Boy?”

 

He nodded. “I’m sorry, Betts, but I can’t abandon them. Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs, they’re _my guys._ And it’s not just them, either. It’s a bunch of other members who may want to get out of this life. I got out of it. I want them to know they can, too.”

 

She sighed, wrapping her arms around him under his jacket. He could feel her breath on his neck and he closed his eyes, savoring this moment.

 

He had just revealed to her that he was going to take on his gang’s drug problem and instead of running away, she pulled herself closer.

 

“Betts,” he said, softly. “I’m not going to take up where my father left off. I just need to get this one thing done and then I’ll step down. I’m going to make it clear that I’m not going to lead the Serpents.”

 

She looked up at him. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

 

He just wanted to take a moment to look down at her face, pushing some of the soft strands of hair that was brushing her cheeks.  “I can’t be two things and take care of both properly.  I can’t be president of the Serpents and then be the Columbia-attending writer, who is with you and who looks out for his sister. You, JB, and school are too important. I need to choose and I choose you. It’s not even a tough decision, Betts. It’s really not.”

 

“Juggie,” she breathed, burying her face in his neck again. “It makes me happy, hearing you say that, but a part of me is really worried that it’s beyond your control. When I see you with the Serpents, you _are_ their leader. You don’t even try, it just happens. I saw it when you were going to Tall Boy, earlier. They were all willing to jump into the fray, Jug. Then one word from you, it looked like, and they just melted away.”

 

He sighed and shook his head. “It’s easier for them that way. To be told what to do.”

 

“They wouldn’t be so easy if it were Fangs. Or Toni. Maybe Sweet Pea had it while you were gone, but with you showing up and Sweet Pea so obviously deferring to you, everyone understands that you’re their leader. It’s almost like you won by unofficial vote. And I understand, Jug. You can’t just walk away from that. Not when they are depending on you for something.  I get it.” She pulled away and stepped back, taking him by the hands. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to help you.”

 

He shook his head. “Baby--”

 

“Juggie, you won’t be able to tell me otherwise.”

 

“Betts, this can get terribly dangerous.”

 

“I know that,” she huffed. “Kevin and I broke a drug ring in high school, remember? This isn’t my first rodeo. If anyone knows how to find dirt and a lead, it’s me. I _am going to help you._ But I need you to promise me a couple of things.”

 

He sighed in frustration. “What?”

 

“Promise me you won’t go behind my back again. You lied to me the other night, Jug. When we were at the Whyte Wyrm. You sent Fangs to do it for you, but it was _your lie.”_

 

He felt his hands getting clammy. “Betty--”

 

“Please, Juggie. Please, just promise me.”

 

He swallowed. “I promise. I’m so sorry, baby. I was doing it to protect you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

 

“That’s the second thing you need to promise me, Jug,” she said, biting her lip. “I need you to promise me that you won’t treat me the way Polly and Chic does. Like I’ll break if I worry. Like every single thing could trigger me to slit my wrists.”

 

He felt the wind rushing out of his body. Like a punch to his gut. “I--I don’t--”

 

She cast him a pleading look. “I can handle it with Polly and Chic, but not with you, Jug. It’s important that you look at me and you see someone strong, not brittle. If you start to think of me as something broken--”

 

“Betty! No!”

 

“Then we can’t be together. Do you understand that?”

 

He nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes, absolutely. God, Betty, I don’t know anyone stronger than you. I just--I want to make you happy. I don’t want to be the guy who takes that happiness away--”

“We’re in a relationship, Jughead,” she said, pressing her hands to his chest. “That means we don’t have to be perfect and happy _all the time._ People keep saying that it shouldn’t be hard, but that’s total bullshit. Relationships take effort, because people who love each other _want_ to make the effort. And how do you know it’s real unless it gets challenging? The ones who stick it through the tough times come out stronger on the other side. I am sticking it, Juggie. And I need you to believe I would.”

 

“I do,” he said, in earnest. “I believe it. Betts--” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a tentative kiss on her lips. When she didn’t resist, he kissed her longer.  

 

When they finally separated, he pulled her into his arms, feeling her arms come around him, too. He realized, while in the quiet embrace of her arms, that while Betty hadn’t broken up with him, he felt that if he had gone any further in his secrecy, she would have, and that brief hollowing of his stomach at her words earlier was him thinking that he never wanted to be that close to losing her ever again.  

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I was wrong.”

 

“I know you did it because you love me,” she whispered back. “So it’s okay. I’m just glad you finally told me, but next time--”

 

“There won’t be a next time. I won’t keep things from you again.”

 

“Good,” she said, before pulling away to look at him. “Now you need to find out who Tall Boy’s source is, right?”

 

She was really going to do this, and if he were being smart, he should consider the fact that she and Kevin had experience in this. But the danger of this was real, and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Betty because of him.

 

“I’m scared to let you do this,” he said, honestly.

 

“I can’t let you do this _alone_ ,” she replied, determined. “I’m assuming you need to start snooping around for information. If he has anything written down, where would that information be?”

 

Jughead pursed his lips, his resolve dwindling. “His office, here at the Whyte Wyrm. There’s a safe in there, one my dad used to use when he was president. If Tall Boy hasn’t changed that safe, and it’s likely he hasn’t, then it could be in there. Or it can be in his file folders. Or there can be nothing at all.”

 

“Tonight’s the best night for you to get in there without anyone noticing,” Betty said.

 

“What? Are you crazy? Tall Boy’s guys are everywhere! His office overlooks the dancefloor. I can’t even go up the stairs without being seen, and Tall Boy’s going to notice. I never go up there unless it’s to go into his office. I have no business being on the second floor because my own guys never go up there.”

 

“You don’t have to use the stairs inside,” she said, turning to the locked door. She pulled out two hairpins from her head and started bending both into specific shapes.  

 

“Are you for real?” Jughead asked, gasping.  “How do you even--”

 

“I’ve done this a million times,” she said, sticking one the misshapen pins into her mouth and biting down on it. Whatever she was biting off, she spat it out a second later, then she got on her knees to pick the lock.  A minute later, she was turning it successfully.  

 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “My girlfriend can pick a lock.”

 

“One of my many talents,” Betty said, pulling the door open gingerly and peering in with one eye. “I can also hotwire a car, in case you need an extra pair of hands to jack one.”

 

He frowned. “That’s not funny.”

 

She smirked. “Oh, come on. It’s a _little_  funny. Listen, we need something to jam this open so you can go back to it later. There are too many people who can see us if we go right now.”

 

“How is later going to be any different?”

 

“Trust me. Later, no one’s going to care where you are.”

 

***************

 

Betty and her friends were powerfully distracting just standing around, laughing and drinking among the tables, but up on stage, singing to the tune of Camila Cabello’s _Havana,_ with those impossibly sexy outfits, they were spellbinding.

 

With Betty and her friends providing this distraction for the entire bar and Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs providing support, Jughead got to the second floor through the fire escape, surreptitiously made his way to Tall Boy’s office, used a credit card to jam the office door open, and slipped quietly inside. Carefully, he lowered the blinds on the one-way glass and switched on his phone light. He went to the cheap painting hanging on the wall behind the desk and swung it aside to the background of Betty’s voice, and Veronica and Cheryl on backup.

 

Hurriedly, Jughead turned the combination on the lock and gave a whispered “ _Yes!”_ when it opened, the safe clearly unchanged. He pulled out its contents. There was a lot of cash, but there were envelopes and documents, too. He fumbled through them, fanning them out on the desk. There was a small ringed notebook, and when he opened it, he found a list of unintelligible words and numbers. Jughead didn’t know what it meant, but he took pictures of as many pages of it as he dared. If Tall Boy was coding things, it was probably important and incriminating.  He took pictures of the piles of cash, too.  Making note of what the bills were--most of them reams of $20s, but a couple of them a stack of $100s. When there didn’t appear to be anything else he could get from the safe, he put everything back in and slammed the door shut, giving its wheel one last whirl before swinging the painting back into place.

 

Kevin’s cool voice droned over the speakers, doing the man’s part of the song with aplomb.

 

Jughead grabbed a couple of pads off the desk and furiously began to shade it with a pencil. He found nothing there. He pulled open a few filing cabinet drawers, haphazardly flipping through them in case anything caught his attention. Jughead knew he didn’t have a lot of time left.  

 

He needed to leave now unless he wanted to risk detection.

 

He took all evidence that he had ever been there with him and hurried out the door, closing it behind him just as the song was finishing. He went back out through the fire escape and shut the door behind him.  

 

When he walked back in through the front doors, the house was going wild with cheering and applause.

 

He caught Betty’s eyes and he nodded.  She smirked, but that was the only indication of there being anything more than just an alluring performance up on stage. She took Kevin and Veronica’s hand, Cheryl on the other side of Veronica, and took a bow.

 

The crowd whooped and whistled.

 

That was _some_ performance.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to mention that Betty's organizations are made up, but they are based on real organizations that do life-saving work:
> 
> [National Suicide Prevention Lifeline](https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/) and [Partnership for Drug-Free Kids](https://drugfree.org/). Both offer free services for those in desperate need.


	15. It's Better to Say Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which communication is key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I wouldn't call this a filler chapter, I would say there are a lot of things here that needed to be said. So I hope you don't think this too boring. Also, I myself have been missing JB and Archie, so they'll be here. 
> 
> Also, bit of sleuthing.

 

 

Take all of your wasted honor

Every little past frustration

Take all of your so-called problems,

Better put 'em in quotations

 

Say what you need to say …

Even if your hands are shaking

And your faith is broken

Even as the eyes are closing

Do it with a heart wide open

 

Say what you need to say….

Walking like a one man army

Fighting with the shadows in your head

Living out the same old moment

Knowing you'd be better off instead,

If you could only

Say what you need to say...

Have no fear for giving in

Have no fear for giving over

You'd better know that in the end

Its better to say too much

Then never say what you need to say again

\--Say, by John Mayer

 

 

Jughead looked over Betty’s shoulder as they stared at her laptop screen, her fingers moving to flip image after image from Jughead’s phone.  It was dark and quiet in Betty’s apartment, with nothing but the quiet hum of the old refrigerator and the whirr of the space heater blowing from the corner. It got cold at night in Betty’s apartment for no apparent reason, but rent for this relatively spacious apartment, bad insulation and broken elevators notwithstanding, was cheap, so Betty bore the little inconveniences like a champ.

Kevin was already fast asleep in his room, blissfully dreaming of his biker boy, Joaquin, and how they were going out on a date next Wednesday night. He had absolutely no clue that he played a part in Jughead and Betty’s anti-drug investigation.  

Jughead and Betty had agreed that they were keeping this between them for now.  Kevin didn’t need to get dragged into it.  All he needed to know right now was that Joaquin DeSanto, Southside Serpent, had stared into his eyes that evening and told him that Kevin was the sort of boy he’d been waiting an eternity to walk through the doors of the Whyte Wyrm.

Jughead had to admit that Joaquin had said that with just the right amount of truth and savvy. Kevin was the kind of boy that would _never_ walk into the Whyte Wyrm, were it not for his sweet and bold best friend.

“Kevin and I, we like our bad boys,” Betty had teased, mildly.

It was hard to dispute her words, considering there were a shitload of things about him that she would never tell Chic or Polly.

“You know I’m just kidding, right?” she added when his smile didn’t quite turn to laughter.

He smirked, putting his arm around her shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “You mean you don’t really think I’m big, bad, and tough?”

She sighed, giving him a plaintive smile and lacing her fingers through his. “You make me feel safe, Juggie.”

It would have been a nice thing to hear. Ordinarily it would make him feel worthy and happy, but when he was the cause of the danger, he felt a little bit like a fraud. So he sighed, too, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My circumstances are less than ideal and I’m drawing you into it.”

That stubborn look on her face reappeared, as it already had so many times that evening. “You’re doing this to help your friends and I want to do my part. This is my choice, Juggie. If I didn’t want to be in it, I’d say so.”

He chuckled and trailed his fingers through her hair. How could he argue with that?  

She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t say my plan this evening didn’t work.”

“It did,” he admitted. “Everyone was enthralled. I would’ve been enthralled.”

“You had other things on your mind.” She arched an eyebrow in the direction of her laptop.

They were looking at a page on Tall Boy’s notebook, filled with unintelligible code in letters and numbers. It was the likeliest candidate for what may be related to Tall Boy’s drug activity.

“Any of this make sense to you?” she asked.

He looked closer. “These look like dates…. If you flip to the last image, it corresponds to yesterday’s date. Do the codes repeat in any way through the days?”

Betty began looking through the pages and did see similar codes repeating.  “Yes, the codes are almost all identical, but only up to a certain date, then it’s just the letters that are consistent. The numbers start to vary… but there’s no pattern I can see yet.” She pointed to a row of numbers beside each date and a combination of numbers beside each coded group of letters. “But this number here at the top is increasing.”

She slowly flipped through the pages to show the progression of the numbers.  

“Let’s assume for a second this is his daily record and this increasing number is how much drugs he gets from his supplier to distribute,” Betty continued. “So here he starts with 20--oh, _straws.”_

Jughead nodded. “It’s JJ, so yeah, straws.”

“And then he went up to 30,” Jughead observed. “And then 40… his market starts to fluctuate there because the supply’s getting bigger. His codes switch here, too.  If I’m guessing it right, he splits his supply in two, and then in smaller batches. Could be his two guys distributing it to the dealers? What’s with the code switch?”

“The initials of his dealers?” Betty suggested.  

Jughead nodded. “Could be. But why change all your dealers? When you’re expanding, you don’t change the whole group, you add.”

As they move further down the dates and the number at the top increases, they seem more number fluctuations. It was getting complicated and the list of codes was getting a bit longer. Distribution was increasing.

“He’s going to hit critical mass soon,” Jughead said.

“I think we got this, Juggie. If we figure out what these letters mean, do you have the proof you need to get Tall Boy kicked out?”

Jughead gave her an apologetic grimace. “It’s not enough. This is just a lead. He can deny that this notebook is his and he could get rid of his copy, easy. We need witnesses. We need him to get caught with the drugs in his possession. At some point, he has to have the big stash and that’s when we need to catch him.”

“Well, he gets a new stash everyday, right?”

“He could be getting a week’s worth and just parceling it out through the week, but he’s not hiding that stash in the Whyte Wyrm.”

“His house?”

Jughead shook his head. “Hell, no. He’s not putting that stuff in his apartment. He’s storing that somewhere and then dividing it in two for Handsome and Sick Jim to give to their dealers.” He paused and a thought occurred to him. “You know, writing down a person’s initials is still too incriminating, and if any one of the dealers get caught, and they could because they’re out there and vulnerable, Tall Boy wouldn’t want to be associated with them. These letters aren’t dealer initials. These are probably corners.”

Jughead took a pad and started listing all the codes, then he wrote the corners that he already knew, trying to match them with the coded letters.

“I’m not too familiar with the streets of your neighborhood,” Betty said, looking over his shoulder.  

He smirked as he started writing variations in the corners he already knew based on Sweet Pea’s information and copying the codes from Tall Boy’s notebook. “That’s alright. I know these streets well.” He scribbled and slashed out mistakes, focusing on decoding.

Then he felt her fingers through his hair and he looked up, surprised. She smiled at him plaintively.

“You’re a thinker, Jughead,” she said, softly. “You analyze and hypothesize. By all accounts, you never even should have come close to being in a gang, but here you are, leading them.”

He shrugged. “And you were a Straight A student, breaking news in your high school paper, fighting for justice and those who can’t fight for themselves… you shouldn’t be racing in illegal circuits, but here you are, and dating a Serpent, no less.”

She sighed, tracing his face with her finger. “Jug, you’ve spent the last week taking this on and thinking about how you’re going to end this, but I’ve been dealing with my illegal racing the last few years with no end in sight. Someone here is messed up and it’s not you.”

His insides coiled a little bit tighter. He promised he wouldn’t think of her as fragile, like someone who could break at any moment, and he will try his best to remind himself how strong she was, how she’d worked hard to get better, but he could never alleviate worry of her mind starting on certain paths.

Like right now. How could she even think that he was better than her? How could she think he had it more together than she did?

“Betts,” he said, softly, taking her face in his hands. “You and Jellybean are the reason I have a plan. An end goal. It’s you that keeps me steady. Now that you’re in this, I need a hand to hold and as scared as I am to have you involved, a big part of me is glad that it’s you.”

Her lips pursed and her brows knit, but she looked grateful. He didn’t know if he could bear her gratitude, but he’ll take it over her spiraling.

“My racing…”

“It’s _yours,_ and it’s for you to decide what to do with it. I’m just--” He paused, cocking a grin. “--in the passenger’s seat. Along for the ride.”

She smiled, her eyes filling for a moment and then she blinked the tears away, kissing him softly on the cheek, and then on the lips.

He could let her take the night away with that kiss, but she pulled back and looked at his pad.

“This looks like it makes sense,” she said.

He stifled a chuckle. He just loved the idea that he could calm her, but he did press a slow kiss to the underside of her jaw. A gentle reminder that he was game for a lot more than a quick kiss.

She giggled softly, her eyes darting to his pad with determination.  

Grinning, he used his pen as a pointer. “SL and SW are Southside High Lorimer and Southside High Wabashi. Those two streets intersect. They’re selling on two sides of the high school. OB is probably Olins, and there’s a bank there, so I assume that’s what the B is for. I mean, there are other streets in Newark that start with O, but none are OB and this makes sense in the layout and proximity of SL and SW. FP is Fox Forest Park and PP is probably Pickens Park. I can probably sit here all night and figure out the rest of these.”  

She started counting the items on the list. “So we have his list of corners, how much each corner gets, and on what days.  Based on these numbers, he’s moving about 500 straws at this point, roughly two and a half pounds of JJ a week… any idea how much that is in drug money?”

“$25,000, approximately.”

“That means he’s moving more than that in a week,” she said, gasping. “$30? $45? Jug…”

Jughead reached over to the keyboard and flipped to the photographs of the cash.  “The Whyte Wyrm has its own safe for the bar earnings, so this money isn’t it.  This could be part of the the profits from the drug sales, but that doesn’t look like much. This is more like petty cash--you know, for the miscellaneous expenses.”

“That’s a lot of petty cash,” Betty grumbled.

“Where’s he keeping the rest? So we find the drug stash and we find the money, and we can nail Tall Boy.”

Betty nodded.  “So we start by watching the corners. Now that we can figure out most of his corners if not all, there’s a bigger chance we can figure out Tall Boy’s routines, find the source and the cash.”

“I’ll have Sweet Pea and his guys start doing that. They stay alert and they could start to take note of times, where each dealer goes, where they get their stash to sell, where Handsome and Sick Jim do their drop offs, and so on. Tall Boy’s a simple guy. He’s not going to get too elaborate with his drug handling. At least not yet. It’ll be next to impossible to trail Tall Boy and his Serpents directly. They’ll recognize every single guy Sweet Pea can put on them. Our best bet is to follow the dealers.” He started texting Sweet Pea to meet them first thing in the morning at Morningside Park.  

“$30 to $45,000 a week is a lot of money,” Betty said quietly. “That means Tall Boy is netting at least $10,000 a week. Maybe $15,000. Juggie, he’s only just starting, but that’s already a lot of money. People have killed for less...”

Jughead didn’t disagree. “He might get to that frame of mind, but not yet. He gets rid of me now and he can kiss ever getting the support of the Serpents goodbye.”

She frowned, but said nothing, wrapping her arms around him and sinking into his embrace.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said, even if he had no clue if it was going to be.

“Please stay here tonight, Juggie,” she whispered. “Otherwise I won’t sleep a wink.”

 

He closed his eyes and held her tighter. “Okay.”

 

**************

 

They met up with Sweet Pea at Morningside Park the next day, telling him what they found out.

Sweet Pea listened intently as he ate from his granola cup, mixing the yogurt, honey, and berries up top.

Betty had to try so hard not to giggle as Jughead valiantly tried to stick to business, even as his eyes were so evidently distracted by Sweet Pea's incredibly healthy breakfast snack.

Finally, Jughead said, “Are you done with that?”

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. “It’s early morning and I haven’t had my egg white burrito. Starbucks had this and I was hungry. I swear, I paid attention to everything you said and I know what to do. I gotta get my energy up, man. I’m surprised you’re not eating something.”

“Betty got up earlier to make breakfast,” Jughead said, blushing in spite of himself.

“That’s what I gotta have,” Sweet Pea said, stabbing his plastic spoon in the air in her direction. “I gotta get me a Betty.”

Betty tilted a look at him, eyebrow arched. “To cook you breakfast,” she reiterated, flatly.

Sweet Pea was unperturbed by her tone. “To everything. Someone who makes me happy, like you do for J. You watch his back and help him break into places he ain’t allowed to be in. That’s true love. You and your friends rocked last night, by the way. And Veronica is something else.”

Jughead’s eyebrows had practically disappeared into his hairline, probably too surprised to say anything. Betty, however, never saw Sweet Pea as the lumbering bruiser Jughead seemed to perceive him to be. She wasn’t so shocked.

“She and Cher are very happy together,” Betty reminded him.

Sweet Pea shrugged and waved his spoon dismissively. “They ain’t married. I mean, no offense—Cheryl’s got the looks and money, but I got _parts_ that Cheryl doesn’t _._ Besides, I don’t mind being a side piece in a lesbian relationship. I don’t mind sharing if it’s another _lady.”_

Betty shook her head. “Sweet Pea!”

“What?”

“You deserve better than being a side piece.”

Sweet Pea grinned and turned to Jughead. “This is what I like best about your girl, J. She doesn’t think we’re trash.”

Her jaw dropped. She would _never_ think that way about anyone.

Jughead came to the rescue, then. “Okay, I think you’ve exceeded your quota of outrageous statements, Sweet Pea. You’re fucking precious, alright? I gotta head back to my place—Betty, you wanna come over?”

She wanted to, but she had some work to do. “I want to, hon, but I’ve got a ton of errands to run on top of studying. Text you later?”

He looked at little disappointed and she gave him an apologetic smirk. “I guess I got stuff to do, too. I mean, aside from taking down a booming drug business.”

Sweet Pea laughed as he got up to leave. He and Jughead exchanged the customary Serpent goodbye, which Betty could only describe as a three-step, manly hand-clasp, half-hug, shoulder slap—it made her eyes roll sometimes.

But then Sweet Pea pulled her into a hug, so very _un-manly_ like _,_ and she couldn’t help but hug him back and grin.

He patted her back gently as he pulled away. “Toni wanted to come see you but she’s still hungover from last night. She knocked over a ton of drinks after you and your friends left and hooked up with some chick. I think it was from the pure frustration of _not_ being able to hook up with Cheryl.”

“Maybe you and Toni could team up and get V and Cheryl to split up,” Jughead said, sardonically.

“Juggie!” Betty gasped.

“It was a joke. A _joke,_ babe!”

Sweet Pea seemed to think it funny. “That’d be rich. All of Betty’s friends dating Serpents. Andrews can date Sookie.”

“I don’t think Archie can handle Sookie.”

“And JB—“

“Outta bounds, man.”

Sweet Pea put his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll see you guys later. Stay cool. If you need anything, call me. You got my number, Betty? Alright.”

As he walked off, Jughead turned to her. “You have his number?”

Betty shrugged. “He texted me. Must’ve gotten my number from Toni.”

Jughead shook his head, amazed. “He really likes you.”

She arched an eyebrow in mild surprise.

Seeing it, Jughead quickly backtracked. “I mean, not in _that_ way. God, no. Sweet Pea would _never_ because you’re my—well, you know. But he _likes_ you, the way he likes me and Toni and Fangs.”

“You mean I’ve earned his respect?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that so surprising?” she teased.

“With Sweet Pea? Yeah. I had to earn it with the hard end of his brass knuckles, but then again, I can’t restore an entire car or bring a gang leader to heel.”

She was confused. “I haven’t brought a gang leader to heel.”

He smiled softly and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yes, you have.” He kissed her.

 _Oh,_ she thought, her lips moving of their own volition as she kissed him back.

 _Oh…_ she mused, until there was no point in thinking, only feeling.

 

*************

When Jughead walked into his apartment, Jellybean was up and reading what appeared to be the morning paper.

It was just like Jellybean to actually find printed periodicals and read it over breakfast.

Jughead was hungry, himself. He’d gotten a full breakfast that morning, of course, courtesy of Betty, who _always_ seemed to cook for him, but then that had been followed by an insanely pleasurable roll in the sack, which to Jughead’s mind, depleted the calories her breakfast had supplied him.

What he needed were donuts. He had bought half a dozen of them the other day. Delicious powdered confections of deep fried batter. Round pillowed floats in the parade of sweet carbs rolling into his mouth. And they were missing.

“Did you see those box of donuts I put on top of the fridge the other day?”

Jellybean lowered her paper to look at him. “No. On top of the fridge, you said?”

Jughead stared at her face, her lips dusted with confectioners sugar. _“Wow._ You didn’t even blink.”

“What?”

“You’ve got powdered sugar all over your face!”

Jellybean touched her face and some of the stuff got on her fingers. She flicked it off. “That’s not powdered sugar!” she cried.

He couldn’t believe she was still denying it. _“Really, JB?_ Well, what do you call that, then?”

 _Now_ she was blinking furiously. “Erm—cocaine?”

Archie walked out of his bedroom, a powdered donut between his fingers. “What’s this racket all about?” He shoved the entire donut in his mouth, tiny puffs of powder blowing out between his lips.

Jughead shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you both.” He turned back to the refrigerator, rummaging in the deli drawer. There was some ham and cheese. If they had bread, it would be perfect.

He dumped the ingredients on the kitchen counter and got the rest of the things he needed for his sandwich.

“Where’s Betty?” Jellybean asked.

“Newsflash, we aren’t actually attached at the hip.”

She made a face at him. “Could’ve fooled me,” she said in a goofy voice.

Archie joined Jellybean at the table. “You know I love Betty, but I’m glad it’s just you, man. We haven’t hung out in a while—you, me, and JB. Wanna make a day of it? We can go somewhere, like the mall, pretend we’re both JB’s dads and let people figure out if we’re married or blended. Come on, it’s always fun.”

“I’m too big for that game now!” Jellybean whined.

Archie rolled his eyes. “When were you _ever_ small enough for that game?  You’re only 5 years younger than us, but a lot of people believed it, anyway, because people are stupid.”

Jughead looked at him in surprise. “Whoa, who are you and what you have you done with Archie?”

“Oh, I was just channeling you for a second there.  You haven’t been around much so I’ve been standing in for you a bit, you know, to keep our child, JB, _soothed.”_

“I _am not_ a child and I don’t need to be soothed, you meathead.”

“Shush.  Shush now.”

“Ugh,” Jellybean growled. “Are you gonna hang out with us Jug? Because if you aren’t, I’m just going to swing by Gabe’s and watch Netflix with him all day.”

It was difficult to imagine Jellybean watching Netflix with her boyfriend for an entire day, considering that if it had been him and Betty, there would be a lot of _chill_ involved. “Alright, alright. I get it. I haven’t been around much. Let’s stuff our faces somewhere then we can go to the American Museum of Natural History. How’s that?”

Jellybean clapped her hands. “I’m in! Let me get dressed!” She bounced off to to go to her room.

Archie nodded. “I’m game for the museum if we go to Dave & Buster’s for dinner.”

“Fine. I can whoop your ass at table hockey.”

“Bring it.”

***************

 _Way out here, ten million light years from planet Earth, every point of light is a galaxy containing billions of stars,_ as Neil DeGrass Tyson casually explained in a matter-of-fact tone. Coupled with the spectacular phenomena of expanding and contracting space right up against his eyeballs, enveloped in the magnitude of the Hayden Planetarium, Jughead never realized that being in the middle of the expanse of a endless sea of stars was just as terrifying as being buried alive in a coffin.

He kept his eyes open, however, because that’s the sort of thing he did. He kept on, through phobias and hunger--hunger for food and other basic human needs. It was the story of his life for a long time.  

Beside him, Archie snored, because _of course._

“This is making me sick,” Jellybean muttered. “I mean, it’s awesome, but it’s making me sick.”

“Close your eyes. You had, like, three burgers for fuck’s sake.”

“But it’s spectacular! I don’t want to miss a thing.”

“If that’s an Aerosmith reference, miss…”

“It’s perfect, no? It was the theme song for Armageddon and all this is _so spacey--”_

“I get it, alright? Unlike Mr. Snoozeville over here, you don’t have to explain things to me.”

Jellybean giggled and Jughead smiled. He did miss hanging out with his little sister. The joy of her was so simple. So easy. He knew how to make her laugh. He knew exactly what food she liked and what places would animate her. He was proud of how smart she was. How sarcastic she was. How scrappy she was (he still looked back on that day she came running out of their trailer, bat swinging at the kids that were trying to run off with the dollar-store Christmas decors staked on their pathetic front “lawn”, with great pride. They were wood standups of reindeers and elves holding up signs that said, “Santa stops here”). And in his mind, a lot of that was his raising of her, because their parents were so absent that who else would she take after?

“Jug, are you hanging out with the Serpents again?” she suddenly asked, whispering lest Archie heard, he assumed.

A menacing asteroid the size of North America flew by and Jughead could not have been more unprepared for the End of Days.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked, and he didn’t mean the Planet Killer.

Jellybean shot him a glare. “I just saw Sweet Pea’s name pop up on your phone, like fifteen minutes ago, and I know you’re spending a lot of time with Betty, but the other day, she was at the apartment and you weren’t. Like, seriously, how dumb do you think I am?”

He sighed loudly. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all, JB. It’s just--it’s complicated, you know? There’s one promise we keep as a Serpent if nothing else, and it’s that you look out for each other. I can’t turn my back on them.”

“I know,” Jellybean grumbled. “I get that, and I like your Serpent friends, like, by themselves, but I also know they get you in trouble as a group.”

“That’s still true.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it? You got school and Betty. You’ve got stuff you never had before. You got stuff to lose.”

Jughead has had this discussion with Archie already and he was a little loathe repeating it with Jellybean, but even more so than Archie, or maybe even Betty, he owed Jellybean the truth, because it was Jughead’s Serpent money that fed her when their mother was too high to buy them food. It was what gave him the money to start custody proceedings for her. It was Serpents he left her with when he couldn’t get home early from school to be with her. “I do. I don’t intend to lose you or Betty. School, I’m not so concerned about--”

“Jug!”

“It’s true. School is just something I can put on my resume for credibility, like me telling you to go to college because I got my degree, or something I can show Betty’s brother so he doesn’t think I’m a complete loser, but it’s not necessarily _for me._ I write books and I published one without Columbia. I can do it again without Columbia, But that’s all beside the point. You and Betty are all that’s important to me, but there are things I have to do that have nothing to do with you both, and if I don’t finish what I started, I can’t live with myself. Understand?”

Jellybean settled back on her seat, scowling.  “I know you’re stubborn. And I know that you’ve got an overblown sense of duty, of which I of all people have benefited from, but what if something happens to you? What if you get killed? Do I have to be in the foster system? Because even if dad gets out of jail tomorrow, I don’t think they’ll let him have me.”

“I’m not going to get killed,” Jughead whispered furiously, feeling that brick in his stomach.

“You don’t know that! And what’ll happen to Betty, then?”

There was a harsh “Shhh!” from behind them, and Jellybean dealt them a glare before turning to Jughead, softening her voice but not her venom. “I saw the scars on her wrist, Jug. I don’t even want to think--”

“Don’t,” Jughead said, seriously. His tone was firm, maybe even bordering on warning. _“Don’t_ think it. That is _not_ what Betty is about. I try not to think about that because she specifically asked me not to, and believe me when I say it is the hardest thing I have to do, but I have to believe that she is strong and she’s got this. I have to, or one, she will leave my sorry ass, and two, I won’t be able to function.”

Jellybean’s eyes widened at that. “Jug, I’m just--I’m just concerned…”

“I know, JB,” he said, more gently. “I know. And if there’s anything that will get me through this, it’s the fact that I _don’t_ want you to end up alone, fending for yourself, and I don’t want Betty to suffer for me. I’m smart, kiddo. I’m going to make sure this turns out okay. It has to be. The alternative is not an option.”

Jellybean fell silent, but she did it with a soft huff, so Jughead could feel her discontent radiating off her, like Einstein’s gravitational waves drifting through the fabric of space.

He understood on some level that he was the dark matter that held together the lives of people around him--JB, Betty, Sweet Pea, Toni, Archie, Fangs, and FP. He was that inexplicable substance that supposedly had some kind of enigmatic purpose. He wasn’t the center of it. He wasn’t the vessel of it. He was just there, keeping them close. A non-baryonic glue that wove people into stories of each other.

It was probably why when he tried to affect it, things went to shit, didn’t they?

As the show wound down, Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s closing words rang ominous, or hopeful, through the Planetarium.

_“Peering into the dark, we stand on the threshold of great discoveries—and we always will, as long as we keep exploring.”_

 

***********

 

Mummies. They were surrounded by mummies, Egyptian and Peruvian. Dessicated, ancient bodies preserved in layers of linen, wood, and gold, masks of imitated life painted on the surface of their caskets.

Naturally, Archie was dying.

“How much longer?” Archie groaned, as he watched Jellybean _slowly_ and reverently read each and every placard, listen to every audio explanation of every single display.

Jughead smirked. “Oh, about an hour, maybe. We just got here, Arch. We haven’t even gone through half of the museum. And Jellybean loves this stuff. We’ll be here all afternoon.”

“I don’t know how you smart people can live this way.”

“Like, read a book.”

“You mean those things with words in them?”

Jughead chuckled. It always amazed him--Archie’s ability to just let people think he was some dumb jock who didn’t care about sounding intelligent, or sensible. With all of Jughead’s own self-deprecating humor, and all the things he didn’t care people perceived of him--an anti-social weirdo with no athletic abilities who grew up in a trailer park--intelligence was the one thing he couldn’t joke about not having. His smarts were his _thing._ He had just enough insecurities that he needed at least his brains to be validated.  Archie didn’t even care if people made jokes about his football and music.  He was just that easy-going and probably just had that much more confidence in his own abilities.  

“Arch, I haven’t asked you what’s been going on with your life, lately, and I’m sorry. I’ve been preoccupied,” Jughead said as he eyed Jellybean who seemed, in truth, to be moving in slow motion. “Seeing anyone? You haven’t brought anyone home in forever.”

Archie chuckled and tapped Jughead on the back. “I’ve gone out with a couple of girls. Nothing serious. It’s just the usual stuff for me, man, and it’s okay if you hadn’t asked. I’m just living my life, regular. For the first time in our lives, your love life’s _way_ more interesting.”

“Wow, thanks, Arch.” He was grinning, but he couldn’t feel _too_ insulted. It was probably true, and that’s without Archie knowing about the _illegal_ stuff.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Archie said, suddenly.

Jughead arched an eyebrow, not sure about what Archie was trying to get at.

“I heard you and JB talking in the Planetarium, dude. You in trouble, or something?”

He stared at Archie in disbelief. “Dude, you were snoring the whole time! That means you actively tried to deceive!”

Archie scoffed and waved his accusations away. “Whatever, dude. You told me the other day that you were just catching up with Sweet Pea and Toni. You lied to me!”

Jughead gave a long, loud sigh and buried his face in his hands. “Listen, man, it’s just complicated and I don’t want to drag you into it.”

“Yeah, I heard you tell JB that. It’s complicated, yadda, yadda. I’m not JB. I can take it. What did they do that you have to bail them out of it?”

It was always jarring to hear Archie say “they.”  While Archie knew Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs, he never really hung out with them. Archie has had to put up with them on some level, but he never had them over to, for instance, watch the Superbowl.  In high school, Archie would be in the parties that the Serpents crashed, and maybe Sweet Pea would smirk at him across the room before Sweet Pea knocked back a shot of the free tequila. Perhaps the only time they ever had a decent conversation was when Jughead had been dead drunk and Archie needed Sweet Pea’s help to haul him into Archie’s truck and then later into Archie’s house.

Sweet Pea hadn’t even gotten in the truck with Archie. He took his motorcycle and followed behind, then when Jughead was safely tucked into the couch, Sweet Pea just up and left.

The longest conversation Archie has ever had with any of them was with Toni, and that was because she was dating Jughead at the time. They got along okay, but shortly after, Jughead and Toni broke up and that was it.

Fangs hardly said two words to Archie. There wasn’t a need to.

Even knowing all that, Jughead felt that Archie’s use of “they” was so indicative of how separate Jughead’s Serpent life had been with--well, the one that wasn’t.

“They didn’t do anything, Arch,” Jughead said, tiredly. “If anything, it’s what _I_ did, or what I didn’t do. It’s a lot of things, but it’s not something that you would understand.”

“You always say that. Even way back in high school, you always used to tell me that I wouldn’t understand. When you told me the Serpents beat you up to get in their gang, you said I wouldn’t understand. When you became friends with Sweet Pea after he beat the shit out of you, you said I wouldn’t understand. When you moved back to your dad’s trailer and I wouldn’t see you for weeks at a time, you said I wouldn’t understand. Maybe, just maybe I would if you explained things to me, Jug.”

This was all in the past and Jughead wasn’t sure if he really needed to start from the beginning with Archie, but all those years ago, even now, the only reason he didn’t tell Archie anything was for the same reason he didn’t tell Jellybean, and for the same reason he lied to Betty--he needed to protect them. The Serpents dealt with hard, scary truths and Archie didn’t have to deal with it. Jellybean saw some of it, but she was too young to have remembered the worst of it before their mother took her away with her, then after he managed to get custody of Jellybean after he turned 18, he was on his way to something better.

There was just no need to know.  

And now it was even more imperative that none of them get involved. Betty was already in it and he had no control over that, but Archie and Jellybean could be saved of the worry.  

“Maybe someday, I’ll explain everything,” Jughead said, quietly. “There’s just no point now. It’s going to be alright. And I’ve got Betty to help me out, if you’ll believe that.”

Archie sighed. “Right. I guess. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do. I know that sounds lame, considering the kind of trouble I think you get into, but you never know when you might need my help.”

Jughead gave a small chuckle. “Like, what trouble, do you think?”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t really want to think about it.”

“Not even a guess?”

“Bank robbery?”

_“Wow.”_

“No?”

Jughead shook his head. “Not even close. Look, Arch, if I promise to tell you if I’m _really_ in trouble, would you drop it?”

“That’s, like the _worst_ compromise ever.”

“It’s all I can give you.”

Archie sighed and nodded. “I don’t have much of a choice, it sounds like.”

Jellybean finally walks over to them. “I think I’m done with the mummies.”

Jughead stood and put an arm around her shoulders. “Great. Dinos, next?”

She shook her head. “Forget the dinos, I’m hungry. Let’s put food in our faces.”

“Great idea!” Archie cried, jumping and heading for the doors.

“You are a Jones through and through, JB,” Jughead said, following Archie.

Jellybean nodded. “Completely.”

Jughead watched Archie walk away from them and knew that while Archie wasn’t the type of guy to stay angry for long, he figured he might let Archie win Dance Revo and Table Hockey at Dave & Buster’s.

 

*****************

Jughead never realized how exhausting Dave & Buster’s could be until he spent a couple of hours there with Archie and Jellybean. Apart from the two rounds of Dance Revolution he had to endure against his best friend and his sister, they duked it out, competitively, at four-way table hockey (they got some girl to be their fourth—a feat Archie was all-to-familiar with).

By the end of the night, filled with buffalo chicken wings and lava cake, Archie had a date with table hockey girl and Jughead was restless from missing Betty.

On their Uber home, Jughead texted Betty at 9 in the evening, hoping against hope she was awake enough to at least cuddle on the couch and watch a movie with him.

Her reply of **_I want you_ ** had him telling the Uber driver to drop him off sooner than expected.

“I had a fantastic time with you guys,” Jughead told them as the Uber pulled up in the corner. “But duty calls.”

“Duty or booty?” Archie said, smirking.

Jellybean rolled her eyes. “Jug’s such a hoe for Betty.”

It wasn’t like Jughead could deny it. “Who taught you to slut shame, JB?”

Jellybean paled. “I wasn’t— _shut up, Jug!_ It’s not funny!”

“You two stay safe,” Jughead said as he slid out of the car and stepped out on the curb. “Don’t wait up for me. I plan to sleep over at Betty’s. And we probably won’t do much sleeping. Hopefully.”

“Ugh, gross! Go away!” Jellybean cried, covering her ears.

“Serves you right for calling me a hoe. Goodnight!” Jughead shut the passenger side door and waved as he watched them drive off.  

Jughead walked the few blocks to Betty’s apartment, and when he got there, he climbed those stairs.

He had gotten used to them. Sort of. His resolve had always been powered by the urge to see her. He would probably never climb those stairs just to hang out with Kevin.

When Betty opened the door to greet him, he leaned against the door frame, catching his breath.

“I’m of a mind to go to your building superintendent and scare him into getting that elevator fixed,” he said.

She smiled, sliding her arms over his shoulders and kissing him, which immediately put him in a better mood.

She was in pink sweats, and with her ponytail high on her head, she looked even younger than she was.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his lips. “I kept thinking about you all day.”

“You should’ve called me,” he murmured, sliding his tongue against hers.

She sighed, boneless in his arms. “You were with Archie and JB.”

“I think I could’ve gotten away with skipping Dave & Buster’s.”

She giggled softly, but she sank into silence when his fingers slowly began to trace the letters on the seat of her sweats that spelled out JUI and CY on each cheek.

She pulled him towards her bedroom. “Tell me all about it.”

“You sure that’s what you want my mouth to do?”

When she pulled him to her, she was pushing off his jacket. He shrugged it off his own shoulders before grabbing her by the waist and carrying her straight to bed.

 

***************

 

It took about three days before Sweet Pea came back with any real information, telling Jughead they’d pinpointed the two drop-offs for Handsome and Sick Jim.

It was only a matter of time before they closed in on Tall Boy’s pick-up and drop off schedules.

“We’re gonna know who Tall Boy’s supplier is in about a couple of days,” Sweet Pea said, a cup of Green Tea in his hands as he sat with Betty and Jughead in a Starbucks.

Jughead felt Betty’s fingers tense, twitching reflexively in his.

“How sure are you they don’t know you’re looking,” Betty asked.

Sweet Pea smirked, shaking his head. “We’re not.”

Jughead knew the risk. So did Sweet Pea.

“We’ll think about what we’ll do next when we know,” said Jughead.

Betty leaned over the table. “Can’t we go to the cops with this?” she whispered.

Jughead could see the tension in Sweet Pea’s shoulders. “With what, Betts? Whatever pictures we take, whatever audio we record, the cops aren’t going to believe _us.”_

“The cops are going to believe _you,_ Columbia University student, published writer.”

She was right about that, of course, but he shook his head. “And then they’re going to turn it around and charge the entire gang. I may not go to jail, but I can’t promise that for Sweet Pea, Toni, or Fangs. The cops don’t care who. It’s a numbers game for them. We’re on our own, babe. Besides, we can’t rat on our own people. Tall Boy’s still a Serpent. We have to end this without turning him in.”

She sighed and leaned back on her chair, obviously frustrated. “I just don’t know how you will, Juggie. Are you going to—“ she swallowed “—get _rid_ of him?”

Jughead had to take a moment to marvel at the fact that Betty might very well be asking him if he was going _kill_ Tall Boy and she _wasn’t_ running for the hills. She was perturbed, maybe, but not running.

Sweet Pea was staring at her, too, but this time his look was one of obvious wonder and something more. Jughead knew Sweet Pea wasn’t turned on by murder. His fascination was Betty’s willingness to talk about it, however unwilling she was to do it.  

 _Sweet Pea and his dark delights,_ Jughead thought, exasperated. Jughead had to kick him under the table and shot him a _deadly_ glare.

“Right!” Sweet Pea cried, remembering himself. “No! I mean, we’ve had to drive someone out of our town before, without—you know, employing _that_ extreme measure.”

“And obviously,” Jughead added. “Disposing of fellow Serpents is also greatly frowned upon. There’s… a procedure. We take it seriously and follow it, or else we’re just like the Ghoulies.”

“Okay,” she said, quietly, flashing a worried look at Jughead. “And all this is just to find proof to justify you driving him out of the club, correct?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jughead said, rubbing her shoulder, but since his promise to Betty the other day, he was distinctly more aware about _omitting_ truths. “ _And then_ we need to cut off the supply.”

She sighed, an agonized look on her face. “I knew you were going to say that. Juggie, I don’t know how you’re going to accomplish that without someone getting killed. You—“ She stopped and pursed her lips. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Jughead had absolutely no clue what he was doing, but he wasn’t going to tell her that, yet. He was going to take this one step at a time.

 

*****************

 

Jughead woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. It was early and it wasn’t Betty. He didn’t recognize the number at all. He groaned, putting it back on his bedside table, unanswered.

It kept vibrating, however, insistent. And two more calls later, he was awake and ready to shed blood.

“Who the fuck is this?” he barked, drowsily.

“Jughead Jones?” droned an unfamiliar voice.

“Tell me who you are so I can find you and—“

“FP Jr. still getting his beautyrest?” came a new voice, this one striking in its familiarity.

Jughead tried to clear the fog in his brain, struggling to place that voice.

_FP Jr.…._

Jughead sat up in bed, now fully awake. “Malachi. How the fuck did you get my number?”

“You ask that like it’s hard,” Malachi chuckled. “You’ve been a busy little snake, haven’t you? Inciting a mutiny in your gang… what would FP say?”

Jughead grit his teeth. “Just some disagreements in managing style between the old and the young. The usual stuff. Nothing to get a hardon for. And all of it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Been there. Done that. Killed my uncle. You should do the same for Tall Boy.”

“I’m hanging up now—“

“Your girl looks hot jogging.”

Jughead froze.

“Got her iphone strapped to her arm. Pink earbuds, gray jogging suit with white stripes going down her sides. Oh, fuck _yeah_ , she’s doing burpees and the football team’s pretending so hard they aren’t watching her—“

Jughead’s heart was hammering hard in his chest and he was on his feet. His face hurt from snarling. His rage was crawling out of his skin. “You hurt her—“ He shook his head. “You _breathe_ in her direction and I will find you and slit your fucking throat, Malachi. I will burn down your fucking house and spit on its goddamn flames, do you understand me?”

“Oh, Jug-head,” Malachi said, silkily. “I would never want to hurt her. She is so goddamn gorgeous. You lucked out bigtime with this one. Jesus Christ, that _ass_ —“

“What do you want?” Jughead growled. Malachi was toying with him and Jughead was losing control. He needed to get to Betty. He began to pull on some pants.

“You and I need to talk,” Malachi said. “There’s a Soju House in K-town that I like to frequent. They mind their own business and their soju selection is delicious. I want to meet with you there in an hour.”

Jughead didn’t want to go to this alone. “Two hours.”

“Well, then, if you don’t mind me taking your princess for insurance, you can have _three_ hours if you like. Four, even. Like, take your time. I’ll take good care of her.”

Jughead kicked his trash can in rage. He took a deep breath to steady the tremble in his voice. “You touch her now, Malachi, and you better hide, because I’m not going to sit down having soju parties with you. The next time you see me, I will be there to shoot you in the fucking face. There will be no talking.”

“Jug?” came Jellybean’s voice beyond his door. “You okay?”

Jughead opened his bedroom door, nodding at her. The shocked look on her face at seeing his demeanor, no doubt frightening in its intensity, twisted his insides, but he didn’t have time to explain right now. He shut the door again, hoping that would be assurance enough for Jellybean not to ask questions.

Malachi sighed. “There’s that famous Dark Prince I’ve heard so much about. I don’t want to fight with you Jughead. How about a compromise? An hour and a half. I’ll text you the address and we can laugh about all this later, okay?”

“An hour and a half.”

Jughead did not wait for Malachi to say goodbye. He dropped the line and called Betty.

“Hey, Juggie,” she said, her loving tone jarring in his state of panic.

“Baby, are you at the football field?”

“Yes, wh—

“Go to Archie. Straight to him, _right now.”_

“But they’re running suici—“

_“Now!”_

“Jug!” she gasped. “You’re scaring me.”

“Baby, I’m sorry, but you need to go to the coach—are you going to him right now?”

“Y-Yes.”

Jughead breathed. “Tell the coach you need Archie and that it’s an emergency.”

“Okay, but what—“

“Malachi is _watching_ you, Betty. He’s somewhere there and I just need to know that you’ll be safe.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Okay, I understand. I’m right beside the coach. I’ll call you back.”

Betty dropped the call and Jughead had to will himself to move, pulling clothes out of his closet as he called Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea answered after one ring.

“You need to get over here, right now,” Jughead said. “Just you. Malachi called. He wants to meet with me.”

“Shit. Be there in an hour. Fuck, how did he get your number?”

“That’s a question for another day.” There were very few people who had his number and none of them would’ve given up that information to Malachi’s people. Whatever Malachi did, it was through deception. “Meet me outside Betty’s apartment. I’m dropping her off there, then we can head out to this place together.”

“I got you. See you in a bit.”

Jughead ended the call and got dressed, then as he headed out, he grabbed his Serpent jacket from its hook.

Jellybean was watching him storm through the apartment. “Jughead, what—“

“You stay in this apartment today, okay? Don’t leave. Wait for Archie to get back and have him go with you if you have to go out. Can you do that for me, kiddo?”

“Y-yes.”

“Thank you.” He went over to his sister and kissed her forehead before shrugging on his coat and leaving the apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly.


	16. Come to the Dark Side (We Have Cookies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the chapter title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're in Tumblr, I am, too.
> 
>  
> 
> https://writeradamanteve.tumblr.com/

 

 

Slippin' into darkness

Take my mind beyond the dreams

I was slippin' into darkness, yeah

Take my mind beyond the dreams

 

....

 

Slippin' into darkness, yeah

All my trouble so I choose

I was slippin' into darkness, yeah

All my trouble so I choose

-Slipping into Darkness, by War

 

 

_ “Dude,”  _ Archie said, eyes boring holes into Jughead’s skull when he arrived at the football field. “You’ve got some  _ serious  _ explaining to do.”

Betty was in Jughead’s arms, her head tucked under his chin, and he could only sigh at Archie in response.  He held Betty by the shoulders as he looked at her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jug,” she replied, quietly. “I think Malachi left pretty quickly. I wanted to report him to security but I couldn’t find him.”

Jughead noted the absence of fear in her demeanor. She looked determined. Stubborn. Truly, he felt more afraid than she looked. He hadn’t even thought of campus security. If he hadn’t known that Archie was nearby, he would’ve imagined Betty completely vulnerable and alone. Of course she kept her head. Of course she calmly decided that campus security would keep her safe. 

He didn’t know if he could do this. 

“You promised me you’d tell me when shit got real, Jug,” Archie said. “Shit’s hit the fan, bro.”

Jughead nodded, resigned to the inevitable. “Later, okay? There’s just something I gotta do.” He looked down at Betty’s face, his hand rubbing the small of her back.  “Betts, I’d really like it if you let me take you back to your apartment.”

She looked like she wanted to say something in response, but whatever it was, she bit it back and just nodded. 

Jughead was a relieved she didn’t fight him on this. “Arch, thank you. It means a lot, that you’re risking the wrath of your coach.”

“Fuck that, Jug. I don’t care about that if you and Betty are in trouble. It’s what I’m here for, but I want to know everything. And I mean  _ everything.  _ No more ‘This is Serpent business’ and ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ I might not be the brightest bulb in the room, but I sure as hell want to know if there’s something I can do to bail my brother out of trouble.”

Jughead nodded. “You heading back to the apartment for JB?”

“Yes. Coach will understand. I haven’t bailed on practice in three years.”

Jughead thanked him again before he ushered Betty by the shoulders to head back to his motorcycle. 

“Jug,” Betty said, quietly. “I’m still a little confused about what’s happening.”

He squeezed her shoulders, still reeling from the fact that Malachi threatened to take her. It was almost surreal that she was okay. That Malachi hadn’t gone ahead with this threats, which just told Jughead that Malachi wanted something else from him that was more valuable. 

He couldn’t fathom what could possibly be more valuable than the people he loved, but he knew that in Malachi’s twisted mind,  _ money  _ was more valuable than human life and dignity.

What Jughead could possibly have that would trump money in Malachi’s eyes, he didn’t know, but at that moment, he wanted to pack up Betty’s things and send her away to live with her sister. 

Of course, that would mean Betty would leave him, literally and emotionally. That would never fly with her.  If he did that, it would be the end of their relationship as he knew it. 

“What was Malachi doing here? How did you know?” Betty asked. 

“He called me,” Jughead replied. “He said he was watching you. He threatened to take you.”

Her eyes widened. “B-But why?”

“He wanted to meet with me,” he said, sighing. “I wouldn’t have said yes if he just asked. He told me he was stalking you and I just got dragged right into agreeing to meet him.”

She clutched at his jacket, her face crumpling with dread. “What? Oh, my God, Juggie, no! You can’t go. You can’t! I’m here and I’m okay. You don’t have to go.”

“I have to. I stand him up now and I don’t know what he’ll do to you or JB, later. I can’t be with both of you 24/7. I’ll meet with him, listen to what he has to say, and we go from there.”

She shook her head, her grip on his jacket tightening. “What could he possibly say that would do anyone any good?”

“I don’t know, Betts, but he talked about me having my guys snooping around Tall Boy’s business and I have a feeling that there’s a connection somehow.”

“Jughead,” she began, taking a deep breath. “The guy is a drug lord. You can’t go by yourself!”

Jughead sighed.  “I won’t be alone. Sweet Pea’s coming with. It’s going to be alright.”

“Sweet Pea’s not bulletproof and neither are you,” she whispered. Her eyes filled. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

“Hey,” he said, softly, cupping her face in his hands. “It’s okay. You forget that this isn’t the first time Sweet Pea and I have met with dangerous people. I’ve done this before.”

She pursed her lips, probably to keep them from trembling, and she shook her head. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

He couldn’t blame her. It didn’t make  _ him  _ feel better, but the sooner he could get back from this, the better he could talk to Betty more meaningfully about this turn of events. 

“Betts, is Kevin still at your apartment?” he asked, holding out JB’s jacket for her to slip into. 

“He should be. Why?” She slipped her arms into the jacket and he helped her shrug it on.

“Don’t walk to school alone,” he said, quietly. He tried to make it so that his tone was one of complete concern, not the roiling need in his chest to wrap her in a protective shell and keep her hidden from sight. “Walk with Kevin, and then if you can, be in places with a lot of people. I bet Trev—“

“Stop, Jug,” she said, gently, zipping the jacket shut. “I will  _ not  _ call Trev just so he can shield me from whatever this is.”

“I just don’t want you to be by yourself today,” he explained, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I need to make sure they can’t just take you.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, taking the helmet he was offering her. “I promise.”

He would just have to trust her. There wasn’t much else he could do about it.

They got on his bike and he brought her to her apartment. Sweet Pea was already outside, leaning against his bike and waiting for them, looking completely unafraid of what they were about to do.

_ That makes one of us. _

When Betty saw him, it was almost like it triggered her fears. She turned to Jughead again, her gaze liquid, but as was so often the case with her, she blinked them back as she said, “You  _ call  _ me as soon as this is done. Do you hear me Jughead Jones?”

“I hear you.”  

She kissed him before turning towards the building doors, where she paused briefly to say, “You take care, too, Sweet Pea. You watch each other’s backs, okay?”

“You got it, boss lady.”

She walked into her apartment building. 

“She called you by your full name, man,” Sweet Pea said in a mildly teasing tone. “She means business.” 

“I should be thankful she didn’t call me Forsythe Pendleton III.”

Sweet Pea smirked. “What are we looking at here, Jug? Do you need a piece?”

Jughead arched an eyebrow. “Why? Do you have one?”

“I always do when we have to be around Ghoulies, or have you forgotten?”

Jughead said nothing, sighing as he grabbed his helmet.  “Betty will freak if she finds out I had to carry a gun for this.”

“Don’t tell her.”

“I promised never to lie to her.”

“Can’t tell her the truth if you’re dead.” Sweet Pea dug into his bike’s storage compartment and stretched a hand out, covered by a folded subway newspaper. Underneath it was a handgun, semi-automatic, complete with its concealed carry holster.

“Christ,” Jughead muttered. He hadn’t handled a gun in years. Reluctantly, he took it, feeling its weight. He surreptitiously slid out the magazine and saw that it was filled with bullets. He checked its chamber, saw it was empty, then slid the magazine back in, checking its safety lever quickly. 

Sweet Pea scoffed. “And you call yourself a Democrat.”

Jughead stuck the gun back in its holster and in his bike’s compartment. “Don’t start, Sweet Pea. You’re the one who has a spare. Do you keep a bunch of these now?”

Sweet Pea shrugged. “Loaned it from a couple of our guys, but I do keep one in my house for safety reasons. Guess you don’t need them around here.”

Jughead shook his head. “Maybe I do. Malachi was at the football field when he called me. He was stalking Betty. That’s how he forced me to agree. He threatened to take her. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Sonofabitch,” Sweet Pea hissed. “We need more guys for this. We need to fuck him up. He can’t just do that!”

“I didn’t call you here to beat him up. I need to know why he wants to talk to me,” Jughead said in a louder voice, just to get ahead of Sweet Pea’s rage. “Enough that he’d use Betty to get to me.”

Sweet Pea scowled but he nodded. “You wanna get Fangs and a couple of guys over here to watch out for Betty? Walk her to class and all that?”

“Kevin’s going to be with her.”

Sweet Pea arched an eyebrow and Jughead frowned. 

“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “Kevin’s just as capable of watching out for her as we are.”

Sweet Pea just rolled his eyes and shook his head and Jughead was of a mind to sit him down and tell him that while Kevin might not seem like a bruiser, the guy was just vicious enough to know his shit if things got crazy. Not to mention the fact that Betty wasn’t a slouch, either. 

He bit back his thoughts, however, knowing that he was feeling that sense of helplessness earlier, too, when he told Betty to always be on her toes. 

“Fine,” Sweet Pea said, swinging a leg over his bike. 

Jughead’s phone rang and it was Toni. He had left a message on her phone earlier to give her the head’s up. Someone else in the Serpents needed to know where they were going in case things went south. 

When Jughead answered, her first words were, “I  _ did not  _ see this coming.” She sounded like she thought this was her fault. 

“Toni, unless you had a electronic bug in Malachi’s office, you couldn’t possibly know he was going to do this.”

“I always keep tabs on the Ghoulies, J,” Toni said. “If the mid-levels know about it, I know about it, but this is beyond the mid-levels’ paygrade.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Want me to try to get the scoop on this one?”

Jughead shook his head. “No. I’m going in there, so you don’t have to. If Malachi kept this from his captains, this is something else entirely. Don’t risk your neck.”

“Fine. How’s Betty?”

Jughead bit back a sigh. “She’s good. Carrying on. It’s what she does.”

“Want me to check in on her?”

“Ask her.”

“Will do.” 

They ended their conversation and Jughead got on his bike. “Let’s go.”

With that, they kicked their bikes to life and sped off.

************

Betty received Toni’s text on her way to school with Kevin. Kevin chattered on about how his second date with Joaquin was coming up and how they were going to go see a broadway play. 

“He said he’s okay with musicals,” Kevin said. “Which is kind of preposterous to me, because being  _ okay  _ with musicals is just having a wrong attitude about life.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, one second,” she said. “Toni texted and I want to talk to her for a sec.” 

Kevin sighed and rolled his eyes, but he gave Betty a permissive wave. 

She called Toni. 

“Hey, boss lady,” Toni said. “So you wanna hang out for lunch?”

“Brunch,” Betty said, trying not to sound so desperate. “Like, earlier than lunch.”

Toni chuckled. “I gotchu, girl.”

“I can go to you or--”

“I got a motorcycle. I’ll head over there. Got a place?”

“I do. I’ll text you the address. I really appreciate you reaching out, Toni.”

“Sure thing, hon. It’s not the best feeling--being left behind.”

Betty gave an exasperated sigh. “I hate it that I’ve become  _ that  _ girl and it feels stupid.”

“I hear you, but right now even Jug doesn’t know what this is about, so we have to wait and see. He’s in the best position to find out, and with Sweet Pea with him, they can watch each other’s backs. It’s going to be okay, Betty. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yes. Later.”  

Betty put down the phone just as her eyes fell on Kevin’s suspicious gaze. 

“Everything alright?” Kevin asked.

She paused, not wanting to lie but refusing to get Kevin involved. “Things are a bit shaky right now, Kev, but I’m not ready to tell you why.”

Kevins frowned with concern. “Trouble with Jughead? You guys were so good yesterday.”

“Jughead and I are more than fine, Kev. We are  _ so  _ in love--” she felt the flush rising in her face as she said that. She realized that this was the first time she’d admitted that to anyone, that they were  _ in love.  _ She’d told Kevin that she loved Jughead. She’d told her siblings that she loved Jughead, but it felt different telling someone else that they were in love with each other. The surety of it, that sense of certainty was like nothing she’d felt before.  She’d lived so much of her life with feelings of  _ inadequacy,  _ one way or another, because Alice had burned that self-doubt into her bones, but Jughead, with the ease in which he assured her of his love, about how  _ big  _ it was, devastating, even, in its intensity--she was so sure of it, and it was liberating. 

“Then what’s the problem?” Kevin asked, quietly, as he took her hand and looped it around his arm. 

She smiled up at him, grateful that Kevin hadn’t even questioned it. He took her great declaration as fact.  _ “He’s  _ in trouble, but I understand that it’s unavoidable for him. I’m just a little worried about him, that’s all. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine that anything could hurt that boyfriend of yours. I sent him after you to the races, after all. He looks like a guy who could handle himself.”

Betty nodded, slowly. “He could, but sometimes I think he’s got that Serpent mentality so ingrained in him, too. ‘A Serpent never shows cowardice’ and all that.”

“What? Is that an actual thing?”

She shrugged. “Yep. Laws of the Serpent. Jughead once told me that he’d been afraid many times, but you can pretend to be brave, because people can’t tell the difference. I never thought of it that way. I just did things afraid, but he had to  _ pretend,  _ because in his world, he doesn’t have the luxury of showing he’s scared. So I’m… concerned.”

“That what?”

“That his sense of duty is gonna land him in deep trouble.”

“Are you gonna tell me what that trouble is?”

“I can’t.”

“But you’ll tell me if  _ you’re  _ in trouble, right?”

Betty nodded, seriously. “Yes.”

Kevin seemed satisfied by that reply. She didn’t tell him that the day that Jughead gets himself into deep shit, she would be right there with him. 

*****************

Jughead looked up at the building, just slightly off K-Town’s main strip.  Around them there were a smattering of bonchon places that at night were filled with drunken revellers looking for their fix of greasy, savory-sweet Korean chicken wings. Late morning, people milled about in a hurry in their business casual clothes, passing him and Sweet Pea by as if they were part of the landscape, because in New York, they were. While arguably, they stood out in their gang-patched leather jackets, New Yorkers were as determined to ignore them as they did famous celebrities. It was a New Yorker thing:  _ We’ve seen it all. You aren’t as special as you think.  _

Which was completely fine with Jughead. He loved that everyone can be anonymous in NYC. 

He shifted on his foot as he surveyed the building’s nondescript facade, knowing that there was a soju bar on the second floor that you couldn’t possibly know about unless you were a native New Yorker or a New Jerseyan who frequented the city. 

The holstered gun dug into his lower back and he marveled at the fact that he still couldn’t get used to it. He remembered that period in his life when having a gun on his person was more commonplace, but no matter how many times in a week he had to carry a weapon, he never got used to it. The ridges and bumps on it always poked him and it felt uncomfortable against his skin. 

He’d since realized that the discomfort was largely psychological. Having a tool that was specifically created to kill nagged at his very humanity. He’d never killed anyone with it, thank God, but he’d had to shoot guns in the past, most times for practice, twice for real. He’d injured an enemy with a bullet and he’d brooded about it for a week.

He never hoped to use a gun, but Sweet Pea was right. He needed to protect himself and with the Ghoulies, his preferred weapon, which was a switchblade, wasn’t going to cut it. 

Sweet Pea came up behind him. “Ready to do this?”

Jughead nodded. “First sign of trouble--”

“I start shooting.”

Jughead scowled. “No, man. We leave. They’re not going to kill us because that would be stupid, but let’s not provoke an accidental shooting.” He pushed open the door to the building and they entered a narrow hallway with elevators to the side. 

He walked past the elevator to get to the stairs and he ascended the winding steps with Sweet Pea behind him. When they reached the landing, Jughead saw that the sign said, “Closed.” He knew that was far from the truth. 

“Ready, dude?” Jughead asked Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea checked his phone, clicked its screen and sank it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Ready.”

Jughead pushed the handle on the door and it easily swung open. 

*****************

The industrial design of the restaurant was the first thing he noticed. Set against the brick walls were panels of stylized aluminum and exposed beams. Overhead, the drop lights were affixed to old piping, designed artfully into a row of bulbs. Most of the furniture was made of burnished wood, and at the far end of the floor was the bar, its shelves backlit with orange lighting, showcasing the many bottles of soju and glass vats of Korean tea. 

The bar’s hostess greeted them at the door. “Are you here for Mr. Garcia?”

Jughead had never been quite sure about Malachi’s last name, but he was sure they were in the right place and he had to assume that there weren’t gang meetings at every empty bar in the city. 

Jughead and Sweet Pea walked deeper into the restaurant and found some three Ghoulies standing around their boss, Malachi. He sat on a comfortable sofa chair wearing red leather pants and a garishly printed shirt, half open at the front, his bare chest showing through.

Malachi stretched out his arms, smiling that awful grin of his. “FP Jones III! And  _ Sweet Pea.  _ I don’t remember extending an invitation to him.”

“I invited him,” Jughead said, his tone unapologetic. “Now would you mind explaining to me why I shouldn’t just bring the wrath of the Serpents down on you for that stunt you pulled? I thought I made it clear the last time we met that I don’t take kindly to threats.”

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Malachi said, mildly. “You’ve got a pretty good right hook, Jones. But that girl of yours inspires my recklessness. I’d imagine she does the same for you.”

Jughead took a deep breath to control his temper. “What do you want, Malachi? You demanded my presence here. Well, here I am. You going to waste my time or are you going to start telling me what the fuck is going on?”

Malachi rolled his eyes. “Sit. Have a soju. This bar serves the best kind.” He waved at someone, who came forward with a bottle of what looked like premium soju and two shot glasses. “And another glass for Mr. Sweet Pea, over here. When FP Jr. is on hiatus, Sweet Pea is regent. That deserves a seat at this table.”

Jughead didn’t want to sit, but the reason he went was to listen to what Malachi had to say. If the man insisted on this foolish show of congeniality, then Jughead had to play. 

He pulled up a chair, which was really just a cushioned stool. Sweet Pea took the other one, but he angled himself so that he had full view of everyone in the room.  

“That’s better,” Malachi said, pouring some soju into the two shot glasses and moved each closer to them.  “Drink. You won’t regret it.”

There was no way in hell Jughead was going to drink something Malachi gave him. 

The third glass arrived just as Malachi snorted at their unwillingness to take the offered drinks. He poured himself a shot from the same bottle, took it, and knocked it back swiftly, immediately pouring himself a second shot. “Come on. It’s not poisoned. I’m not about to kill the Southside Serpent prince  _ and  _ his general. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable,” Sweet Pea said. 

Malachi chuckled, the curly ringlets of his hair falling over his eyes. “If I wanted to kill you, I won’t be issuing invitations and asking you to RSVP. You’d be dead.”

Jughead was getting impatient. “Get to the point, Malachi. Why am I here?”

Malachi looked like he was stifling a grin. “First of all, I want to clear the air between you and me. Level set, as they say in corporate speak.”

“Clear the air--meaning, forget that you threw a Molotov cocktail at my girl’s car while she was driving it? Or maybe just shrug off how you threatened to kidnap her an hour and a half ago? You’re pretty fucking terrible at clearing the air, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Malachi shrugged. “I’m a prick. What can I say? Like I said, if I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it already. If I wanted to take your girl, I wouldn’t ask your permission. I just want your attention, junior. I was just doing it in the best way I knew how.”

“Threats and menace. Who needs psychos when you can be friends with Malachi Garcia?”

“This is good! We’re making jokes! I’d say that’s a step forward in our relationship.”

Jughead had to stifle his gorge. “Don’t ever call what we have a ‘relationship’.”

“Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I acted on impulse with that stunt at the race. I perceived you as a threat to my business and I wanted to scare you, but I thought about it afterwards and I know I was wrong. I could’ve been a little more diplomatic, yeah?”

Jughead glared at him. “What is it, about me, exactly, that made you think that I would be trying to get your business from you by being there?”

Malachi smirked. “So this in-fighting you have with Tall Boy--”

“None of your fucking business.”

“‘Fraid it is. It’s the reason we had our misunderstanding at the races, after all. He’s selling my drugs for me.”

Jughead did not know what to say. He looked at Sweet Pea, who seemed just as speechless. 

“I wasn’t sure if he was going rogue on me with your help or if you were setting up your own drug trade with your half of the Serpents,” Malachi continued. “So yeah, I’m Tall Boy’s supplier. I figured that since you were closing in on that piece of information, I’d get ahead of it and just come out with it to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jughead said. “Tall Boy would never work for the Ghoulies.”

“I hate to break your heart, FP Jr., but it’s true.”  He snapped his fingers, and one of his thugs dug out an envelope from inside his coat and gave it to Jughead. 

Jughead scowled, unfolding the flap and pulling out pictures of Malachi and Tall Boy talking, Malachi and Tall Boy shaking hands, and Malachi and Tall Boy exchanging bags. 

“So you talked,” Jughead said stubbornly, stuffing the pictures back into the envelope and casually handing them over to Sweet Pea, to look, or to keep, he didn’t care. And he realized that gesture--of keeping the pictures instead of tossing them back to Malachi, bellied his words. His own tone sounded hollow to him. “Big deal. This isn’t proof he’s dealing for you.”

Malachi raised a finger, pulling out his phone and putting it on the table between them. He clicked his phone open, pressed an entry from his favorites folder, then put the phone on speaker. 

“Hello?” came the all-too familiar voice of Tall Boy. It sounded unusually dulled against Jughead’s ears.  

“Tall Boy!” Malachi cried. “How’s my favorite middle man doing?”

“It’s only halfway through the week, Malachi. Are you collecting earlier now?”

“No, just checking in with you. I’ve been hearing things about you and FP’s boy--Jughead, was it?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Is he giving you problems, man? I’m concerned that he’s going to get in the way of moving my product.”

“You leave Jughead to me, alright?” Tall Boy said in a tight voice. “He’s a nuisance, yes, but he’s all talk. He doesn’t have his father’s gumption. And pretty soon, when I start rolling out the money, I’m going to be able to get rid of him permanently. But right now, don’t worry about him.  The product’s moving according to schedule. We’ll be able to pay at the end of the week, just like we always do.”

“Good! That’s high-quality JJ, Tall Boy.” 

“Whatever that means for a gutter drug,” Tall Boy muttered.

Malachi seemed unoffended. “Demand is high and I’d be disappointed if sales stall, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah. Can I go now? Some of us have to work.”

“That’s all,” Malachi said, clicking his phone closed. 

Jughead realized at that moment that it wasn’t Tall Boy’s voice or the phone speakers that were dull, it was the pounding in his ears. The blood rush of rage was moving through his body and crashing into his head. It was his body’s way of grappling with the fact that Tall Boy had  _ betrayed  _ the Serpents by turning to their mortal enemies to sell poison to their neighborhood. The fact that Tall Boy declared intentions to kill him was probably not as surprising, but nonetheless jarring to hear. 

This was why Tall Boy refused to tell him the truth. Betrayal was a serious offense with the Serpents. It was serious enough to warrant a kill order, something Jughead had never heard happen in his lifetime, but the measures were there and he had no doubt that it would get issued if the Serpents found out about this now. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Jughead asked, his voice dangerously low. 

“Because,” Malachi said, sitting back in his chair. “If I had known that you were just catching up with your Serpents buddies for old time’s sake, I never would’ve gone to Tall Boy with this. I would’ve gone straight to  _ you.  _ Tall Boy’s fading. He’s old. He’s losing support. He doesn’t inspire the elders in your club and the younger ones think he’s a joke. They follow  _ you.  _ They respect  _ you.  _ I want the Serpents to be partners with the Ghoulies, but that’s not happening with Tall Boy and his pathetic crew. He’s got other kids selling the product, which works fine as a temporary measure, but it’s short-sighted. I don’t need random kids who want to earn a buck. I want loyal members. I want people invested in their gang’s future and their leader’s favor. I want  _ your  _ power, Jughead, and with you, we’ll do it as partners. You won’t work for me. You and I will work together to grow my distribution and spread out to the tri-state. How about that?”

Jughead had shut down. He wasn’t hearing this. This was all making him very sick. 

“Sweet Pea, we’re leaving,” Jughead said, standing up. 

Sweet Pea stood with him. 

“We’ll be rich together, Jones,” Malachi continued. “You can live in a big house, write all the books you want, give your girl the life she deserves and tell those big-headed legal racing circuits to let her drive in their tracks all she wants…”

Jughead didn’t flinch as he made his way to the doors.

“It’s a one-time offer,” Malachi said after him. “And I understand that this is something you need to think about, so I’ll give you a couple of days. When you’re ready to talk again, you have my number.”

“Fuck you, Malachi,” Jughead hissed without looking back. 

Malachi just grinned. “Is it Betty? Princess might object to your drug dealing? I can convince her for you, if you like.”

Jughead stopped in his tracks, his breathing suddenly going ragged.  

_ It didn’t take long, and Jughead didn’t even remember how he got from point A to B, but he was on Malachi before he knew it, one fist crumpling Malachi’s shirt and the other pressing the barrel of his gun to Malachi’s eyeball.  _

_ “Don’t you fucking say her name, Malachi! Don’t you fucking dare.” And everyone came at him at once, guns drawn. “You don’t know a fucking thing about her!” _

_ Jughead pulled the trigger and all hell broke loose. _

“Jug,” Sweet Pea hissed, nudging him on the back. 

Jughead blinked. He hadn’t moved. 

He hadn’t moved a muscle. He was still in point A and his fists were curled, but they were clenched firmly to his sides.

He realized then that he shouldn’t give Malachi the upper hand. He lost his mind every time Malachi menaced Betty and he recalled Toni’s words a few weeks back.  _ “You’ll burn down the entire world for her.” _

He was only beginning to realize how true that was and he had to ask himself if that was the kind of love he wanted to lay down at Betty’s feet. She would never want that. She’d come so far emerging out of her darkness and he wasn’t going to drag her into his. 

He met Malachi’s gaze from across the room. “If you so much as look at her funny again, I will end you, Malachi.”

He didn’t wait for Malachi to respond. He pushed through the doors and hurried down the steps.  

When they stepped out of the building, the cold felt like a slap to his face and he realized he was still taking deep, ragged breaths. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and began to walk. Sweet Pea kept up. 

“J, talk to me,” Sweet Pea said. 

Jughead tried to summon the words. “Fucking Tall Boy.”

Sweet Pea pursed his lips and nodded. 

“Fucking Malachi,” Jughead continued. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“We got what we needed,” Sweet Pea said, pulling out his phone. It was thick, padded by a microphone sleeve. He pressed a file on it. “Listen.”

_ “Are you here for Mr. Garcia?”  _ came the hostess’s voice from the phone’s speaker. 

Jughead took those minutes, listening to the recording, to calm his frayed nerves. When it got to the part where Tall Boy was basically promising his demise, he got angry again, but it wasn’t consuming rage he felt hearing it for the first time, and as he was able to put it into perspective, he realized that Tall Boy wouldn’t have thought of “disposing” of him if he hadn’t walked back into the Whyte Wyrm.

As it was, Tall Boy’s road to hell was, as the saying went, paved with good intentions. 

“I’d say this is pretty solid proof we could use to kick Tall Boy out,” Sweet Pea said. “With this and the pictures, shit, we can get this done by Wednesday, even.”

Jughead sighed, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “Sweet Pea, you do realize that this is enough to get Tall Boy killed-- _ by Serpents.” _

Sweet Pea blinked. “W-Well  _ we  _ won’t do it--”

“And you’re okay with that?” Jughead asked. 

“Of course I’m not! But we can’t control what the other Serpents do. We’ll tell them we don’t endorse--”

“Listen, dude,” Jughead said, taking Sweet Pea’s shoulders in his hands, firmly. “The Laws of the Serpent say that betrayal should be met by death. It’s absolutely  _ not  _ a law I agree with, but many of the Serpents live by it, and our inability to enforce that law will have long-term effects on how the Serpents will perceive us as leaders. We need to think about this.”

“We’ll confront Tall Boy with this,” Sweet Pea said, waving the phone. “Drive him out.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow. “You know how much he’s making now, right? Minimum $10,000 a week. You think he’ll drop everything and leave for that? You think Malachi would?”

Sweet Pea scowled. “Then what exactly do you want to do, J?”

Jughead let him go and sighed. “I’m not sure. I need some time to think. This shit is fucked up.”

“Worse than Penny Peabody, even. At least her market was outta town.”

Jughead wished he had answers for Sweet Pea right now, but at the moment, he was at a loss. They hadn’t even talked about the fact that Malachi had just proposed a partnership with  _ him.  _ Obviously, Malachi believed whatever hype there was about him being a full-on thug. It probably didn’t help that the last time they met, Jughead had socked him on the jaw, and that every conversation they’d had over the last couple of months involved Jughead threatening Malachi’s well being.

“So what do you want to do now?” Sweet Pea asked. 

“We make copies of the recorded conversation and those pictures, and then figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”

It wasn’t much, but it was the best they could do at the moment.

***********

Betty was just walking out of her class when she received the text from Jughead, saying he was on his way back. 

She was surprised at how relatively quick it went, and she supposed that the lack of more details was a sign that they were okay. She texted him back, saying that she was meeting up with Toni at a nearby taco place. She immediately sent Jughead the address to the place.

**_I suppose it’s never too early for tacos,_ ** Jughead texted, which made Betty chuckle. 

Toni had been particularly thrilled that she hadn’t suggested a signature sandwich shop with french names that used an excessive amount of trimmed arugula. Betty then told her that she had no love in her heart for delicate sandwiches the size of appetizers.

Toni met her outside the restaurant, and while Toni didn’t exactly greet her with a hug, she squeezed Betty’s shoulders gently. 

“You okay, girl?” she asked.

Betty resisted the urge to give her automatic, “I’m fine.” Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m a little better. Juggie texted and said they were on their way back. But before that… I didn’t remember a single  _ thing  _ from class.”

“Okay, so how about we go inside, order some nachos while we wait for the guys, and then try to talk about anything other than the boys meeting up with Malachi. How’s that?”

Betty felt her lips stretch to a smile. “Yes. Yes, please. Let’s do that.”

So they stepped into the restaurant, ordered a plate of the Nachos Royale, which was basically freshly fried nachos slathered in cheese, seasoned ground beef, salsa, and sliced jalapenos, and talked about Cheryl and Veronica’s committed relationship (because Toni was still slightly disappointed about Cheryl being unavailable), which moved on to Cheryl texting her about submitting a written proposal about all the plans she had for the bar, which eventually had Toni asking Betty what  _ her  _ plans after graduation were.

“I want to work for a publication that’s got a good reputation, but not the New York Times,” she said, somewhat dreamily. “I want to investigate things and write huge pieces on them that will be both revealing and maybe shocking. I want to be able to break stories from the most unexpected publications. It’s just a thrill. And hopefully, one day, I can possibly find a way to make my racing a sustainable thing--you know,  _ not  _ illegal.”

Toni cocked a smile. “I doubt that you never tried to go legal.”

Betty sighed. “I’ve tried. Many times. The gatekeeping--God, getting into those circuits--the sexual harassment was worse than in Hans’s races, because then I  _ had  _ to be alone with the guys who can get me into the circuit. I got the whole ‘Sleep With Me and I’ll Make It Happen’ so many times that it got to the point that I got worn down enough to think, ‘Maybe if I do it just this once.’ But then I got to thinking--what if I had to sleep with 5 other guys just to get to the starting lineup? What if that became a forever thing? I just can’t. It would be way too emotionally exhausting for me.”

Toni took her hand and squeezed it. “Girl, if it’s not in you to do that shit, you  _ don’t.  _ If you had, I wouldn’t have judged you for it. We rarely get the options we want and I’m guessing that unless you’re as filthy rich as Veronica and Cheryl, that’s how it is for the rest of us. I can only tell you to keep looking _.  _ One day you’ll find a circuit that’ll only be too glad to have you, without you having to sleep with anyone. Besides,” she grinned, “I almost wanna see them try that shit now with Jughead looking over your shoulder.”

Betty sighed, then chuckled. “Don’t tempt me. The last thing I want is to get Jughead in trouble for assault, because yes, I’ve seen him come to my defense. It was intense.”

“You talking about the incident with Malachi?”

“He told you?”

“I scooped it. Heard it from my sources, how Jughead pitched into Malachi on race night for throwing that Molotov cocktail, and that was with Hans’s crew holding him back.”

Betty nodded. She didn’t need to mention the dark look on Jughead’s face when he found out that Reggie was being a complete douchebag to her.

“Yeah, Jughead doesn’t fuck around. I respect that you hadn’t turned tail and ran.”

Betty’s eyebrow arched in surprise. “Toni, why would I run?”

She shrugged. “Because, sweetie, Jughead’s intensity is overwhelming, sometimes scary, and all this gang stuff is rightfully frightening to many. To be honest with you, I never would’ve pegged you as someone who would stick around after finding out all this about him. I mean, I know looks can be deceiving, and I almost think you’re doing the whole Ms. Sunshine Perfect thing deliberately, but still. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think that a girl like you might--you know, choose a more normal path in life.”

How could Betty fault Toni for it? Especially since Toni was right. She kept up a facade. She didn’t want people to see that darkness in her. She pulled on the cuffs of her sweater self-consciously. “Stuff happened to me in the past so I know life isn’t linear. We all go about it our own way and the truth is, Jughead had every reason to run for the hills, himself, but he didn’t, so both of us have baggage and we’re both okay with it. What’s normal, anyway? I honestly don’t know.”

Toni looked amused. “White picket fence? 2.5 kids? Stable jobs for mom and dad, while living in a nice neighborhood?”

Betty quirked a smile, but there was no mirth in it. “That was my life, I guess. Maybe I was just an ungrateful little bitch.”

“Doubtful. Whoever did you wrong, Betty Cooper, needs an asswhooping.”

Betty never thought about her mother’s ass getting whooped. It was never a thing in her mind. She always thought of Alice as someone to run away from, someone she should be seeing move farther and farther away. It never occurred to Betty to just turn around, stand her ground, and throw a mental punch. She was too afraid, for one, and running away always seemed so much easier.

“Why do you look like that?” Toni asked, eyebrow arched.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re shook.”

She couldn’t quite form the words for a quick response, but Toni looked up over her shoulder and Betty knew Jughead and Sweet Pea had just walked into the restaurant. 

Betty turned on her seat and saw two men in leather jackets, the expression on their faces equally deathly, like they’d been handed terrible news. It was nothing like she’d ever seen and it made her stomach turn knots. 

“What’s wrong?” Betty asked automatically as Jughead took the seat beside her.

He rubbed her shoulder, his way of telling her not to worry, she supposed, but his serious expression did not soften. “Did you guys order yet?”

“Just the nachos,” Betty replied. “We were waiting for you.”

“Should we be ordering tequila for this?” Toni asked. 

Sweet Pea arched an eyebrow. “It’s barely noon.”

“I’m a bartender, Sweet Pea. I’ve had customers refer to this time of day as happy hour.”

The waiter came over to give them menus, but it seemed that they all knew what they wanted, so they didn’t need another five minutes, but it was Jughead’s order that had Betty worried.

Jughead told her he was a stress eater and judging by the extraordinarily humongous order of tacos, it was evident that he was not in a happy place right now, so it was immensely comforting when Sweet Pea said, “You know that your inhalation of carbs will make you happy for about five minutes and then you’ll crash and burn into the depths of hell.”

Betty bit her lip to keep from laughing even as Jughead began to look like he was ready to kill for his tortillas.

“Sweet Pea, quit ruining mealtimes for us every damn time,” Toni said. “If you want to eat healthy, that’s  _ your  _ freaking problem. Leave us alone and let us enjoy your unhealthy lifestyles.”

Sweet Pea put up his hands. “Your funeral.”

Betty put her hands on Jughead’s forearm. “Tell us everything.”

He and Sweet Pea exchanged uneasy looks before Jughead nodded and recounted the details of their meeting with Malachi.    

Betty tried her best to quiet her nerves as Jughead went over the most significant parts, which Betty realized she was immediately compartmentalizing in her head. When Jughead said, “Malachi wants to me to partner up with him,” the neat boxes of information in her head started to tumble into a mess of liquid emotions. 

“W-What did you tell him?” Betty asked.

“I told him to fuck off,” Jughead replied. 

Toni flinched. “Will he take no for an answer?”

“He’d have to.”

Toni looked troubled, like she didn’t believe Malachi would take a no without resorting to his worse intimidation tactics. 

“The only good news is that we recorded the whole thing,” Sweet Pea said, taking out his phone.

“Ah, yes!” Toni cried, pulling out earphones and plugging it to the phone. “We can use it to kick Tall Boy out of the Serpents!” She offered one earbud to Betty. 

Betty did not feel as enthused as Toni. She could feel the tension in Jughead’s muscles, and she had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. She took the earbud and listened to the conversation, word for word, and she flinched at the number of times she was referenced. 

Jughead said nothing, exchanging looks with Sweet Pea, who seemed resigned to whatever it is that Jughead appeared to have told him. 

“Jug thinks this will get Tall Boy killed,” Sweet Pea said, tiredly. 

Toni frowned. “What? No! Those freaking seniors and their awful laws can suck it. Tell them that’s not an option, boss man.”

Jughead shook his head. “It’s not just the seniors, Toni. Even if people won’t object to my suppression of the old law now, that shit it going to come back to haunt Sweet Pea. He’s going to be the leader who supported me in that decision. That could cost him something later on.”

Sweet Pea scowled. “What do you mean I’ll be the leader?  _ You’re  _ the leader. What are you trying to--”

“We’ll talk about that some other time,” Jughead said, shortly. “What’s important is I’m here right now and I’m trying to figure a way out of this fucking mess. I don’t want either of you breathing a word of this to anyone, not even Fangs. We keep it between us for now until I figure out what to do with it. We clear?”

“Fine,” Toni muttered. 

After lunch, they broke up their party and went their respective ways, with Betty getting on Jughead’s bike so he could take her to his apartment and they could talk some more.

The apartment was quiet now that Jellybean was in school and the first thing Jughead did was collapse on the couch, hands to his face in exhausted frustration. 

Betty settled beside him, watching him with some concern. She didn’t say anything, just waited until he was ready to say more. 

Finally he looked at her with his blue eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I have no idea where I should go from here. I could talk to Tall Boy, use the recording to drive him out voluntarily, and maybe that’s the end of that, but what if he calls my bluff? He knows I don’t condone honor killing, and then what? I tell the Serpents and someone would  _ definitely  _ have to do him in, but that would be under  _ my  _ orders, and if I don’t have him killed? He’s going to keep on doing what he’s doing.”

She had no suggestions for him. Gang politics were so beyond her that she felt that anything she said would be completely irrelevant to his situation. 

“And Malachi?” she asked, carefully. “What are you going to do about him?”

Jughead perched his elbows on his knees and hung his head between his shoulders. “I feel a little beyond my depth with him. He’s willing to do bad things and I’m--I don’t know if I’m willing to go back to those dark days. I never actually killed anyone back in those days, but I’m pretty sure that if I had to--if my crew’s lives were threatened, I would’ve done it. It was a choice between them and my crew, and I wasn’t going to let any of my guys die.” He looked at her pleadingly. “I can do the unthinkable if he threatens you or my family, Betty.”

“Juggie, don’t think about that…”

He sighed and reached for his backpack nearby. He fished something from inside and put it on the table. 

Betty stared. It was a holstered gun.

“I have to,” Jughead said. “I had that gun with me this morning, Betts. It’s loaded. I didn’t need a lot of convincing to carry it. And at one point, talking to Malachi, I think I might have blacked out for a couple of seconds--I swear to God, it felt real. I’d pulled the gun on Malachi because he threatened you again and I shot him in the face. I was shocked to realize that I had imagined the whole thing.”

She tore her eyes from the gun on the table and tried her best to focus. She placed her hands on his knee and looked him in the eyes. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You didn’t do it.”

“But I could. I  _ could.” _

She could see the conviction in his eyes, but even then she couldn’t believe that he would ever do such a thing.  

Jughead spent the rest of the day basically bringing her and picking her up from class, doing the same for Jellybean in the afternoon. All day, she saw the worry in his gaze, that open vulnerability that told her that as afraid as he was of himself, she would never be afraid of him.

Betty stayed with him the rest of the evening, giving him a reprieve from his anxieties of him worrying that she was alone.  She believed that he just needed to come to terms with his troubles, and that tomorrow he’d be a little better. Less paranoid. 

When Archie came home, Jughead sat Archie down and told him everything without revealing Betty’s secrets. Archie took it relatively well--either that or he was shocked. He knew Jughead was in a gang, knew that he had a gang past, but it was hard for Archie to fathom that his best friend--his brother, Jughead Jones, writer and book nerd, ever had to carry a gun around with him, while also leading the next generation of Southside Serpents.

Archie looked overwhelmed and didn’t quite know what to say, so he said he was going to bed, and he needed time to wrap his head around it. 

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking,” Jughead joked, lightly. 

Archie gave him a half-hearted nudge before retiring to his room. 

Betty stayed the night with Jughead, cuddling on the couch and falling asleep in his arms.

At one in the morning, she woke up to Jughead amorously kissing her neck and whispering that he needed her. He carried her to his room and they undressed one another in the darkness. The push and pull of skin against skin, his hands threading through the dips and curves of her, elicited sounds from her that she could barely hold back, she felt like an instrument and he was playing her like a maestro.

When he moved inside her, her legs around him, and her hips meeting his, he told her he would do anything for her.  _ Anything. _

She closed her eyes, trying not to let that sense of power overcome her, but it did, and she was coming, and it was in her surrender that he tumbled right after her.  

************

It was 5 A.M. when Jughead heard the doorbell ring. Betty was sleeping soundly and out of all his flatmates, he was always the lightest sleeper. 

He lay there, wondering for a moment who the hell would come to the door at 5 in the morning. 

Then the paranoia set in. Pulling his pants on and throwing on a shirt, he grabbed the gun from his bedside drawer and unsheathed it, grasping it in his hand before heading out of his room. 

The doorbell rang again, and quietly, he peered through the peephole. 

His eyes widened in shock at what he saw. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ he hissed under his breath.

It was Chic and he looked pissed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this took a little longer, but this was the very first chapter that I actually had to write from end to end. Hope you liked it!


	17. Dance with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Jughead wades into shark-infested waters and Betty does what she can to keep it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not the most exciting chapter, but there are some emotional acrobatics.

 

I’m the lesser of two evils

Or am I, am I tricking myself nice?

If I’m a lesser of two evils

Who’s this man, who’s this act I hide behind?

 

There are two ways to skin tonight

Let’s see whose road gets there faster

This is a game, no wrongs, no right

Only a winner and a loser

You and I, oh you and I

We’re not that different, you and I

Oh you and I, you and I

We’re not that different, you and I

\--Two Evils, by Bastille

 

 

Jughead had a completely irrational thought.

_ Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll just go away. _

This thought, of course, was immediately preceded by Chic abandoning the doorbell and banging on the door instead. “Forsythe Pendleton Jones III, open the goddamn door!”

_ Shit.  _

Now, not only will he wake the entire house up, he’ll wake up the whole floor.

Tucking the gun into one of his bookshelves, he swung the door open.

“Chic, would you keep it—!”

Without preamble, he grabbed Jughead by front of his shirt and shoved him roughly back into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. “I  _ trusted  _ you,” Chic growled. “I trusted you with my baby sister and now you’re meeting up with drug lords? What the hell is wrong with you, Forsythe?”

“What the hell is going on?” came JB’s sleepy moan from her bedroom door.

Archie, who had come out of his bedroom as he shrugged a shirt on, looked more awake. “Who the hell is this, Jug?”

“Oh, my God,  _ Chic?”  _ cried Betty. “What are you doing here?”

Jughead, for the life of him, could only think that Betty was in nothing but his t-shirt and her big brother might not appreciate that.

True enough, Chic’s lips pursed tightly and he said, “Kid, put on your clothes and get over here, right now. I’m going to have a word with your boyfriend and then we’re going to leave, got it?”

Jughead scowled, not at all liking the tone he was using on Betty. “Don’t talk to her like she’s twelve, Chic.”

“She’s my baby sister and I’m going to talk to her however damn well I please.”

“Chic,  _ what  _ are you doing?” Betty demanded, not having moved an inch. “You can’t just come in here and use your FBI voice on us!”

“Your  _ boyfriend  _ met up with Malachi Garcia, the tri-state area’s up and coming drug lord, yesterday morning, did you know that?” Chic hissed.

A gasp escaped Jellybean’s lips and Jughead expelled a loud sigh. “JB, go back into your room and put on some headphones.”

“Fuck, no. Now  _ you’re  _ talking to me like I’m twelve!”

“Nobody’s twelve!” Archie cried. “Chic? You’re Betty’s brother, right? I’m Archie An--”

“Mr. Andrews,” Chic began in an intimidatingly calm but firm tone. “I’ve talked down terrorists during hostage situations. Don’t try your armchair psychology diffusion techniques on me.”

_ “Okay,”  _ Archie said, contritely. “Just trying to help. Er, how did you know my name?”

Jughead rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Chic, can we all just sit down and talk about this?”

“I can talk standing up, thanks,” Chic replied, testily. “I came here in an unofficial capacity because I care about my little sister, Forsythe. As of this moment, the DEA is working on getting a warrant to haul you in for questioning with regard to your interactions with the gang known as the Ghoulies. Send your sister off somewhere safe, say your goodbyes to Betty, do everything you have to do before I haul your ass in, because it will be the last time I do you any favors and the last time, in a long time, that you’re going to see Betty.”

_ Fuck. _

“Jug,” Jellybean began in a terrified voice. “Are you going to get arrested by the FBI?”

“Chic, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Betty said, roughly, her breathing going ragged. “You have  _ got to be fucking kidding me!”  _ She screamed those last few words, and her fists were clenched  _ hard _ .

“Betty,” Chic gasped, suddenly losing his composure at the face of Betty’s reaction. “Princess, calm down.”

“Calm down?” she cried, furious. “You are  _ going to arrest my boyfriend  _ and you’re telling me to calm down? _ ” _

“Princ--”

“Oh, quit calling me that, Chic! I’m twenty years old! I knew about Malachi, okay?” she yelled. “And Jughead had no choice! Malachi stalked me yesterday morning. Did you get wind of that from your surveillance? He threatened to take me if Jughead didn’t meet up with him! Jughead was trying to protect me and his sister, so don’t come in here and start throwing around accusations because you haven't gotten around to that warrant allowing you to tap Malachi’s cell phone!”

Chic and Betty were staring each other down now, with Chic’s mouth hanging open and Betty desperately trying to calm her rapid breathing.

Concerned about Betty and not caring whether it pissed off Chic or not, Jughead went to her, taking her hands into his and prying them open. 

She looked up at him as she opened her palms, and true enough, she’d broken skin. She blinked back her tears.

He sighed and looked at Chic. “Give us a second, alright? And if you give me a chance to explain, maybe we can all save ourselves--I don’t know,  _ years  _ of grief.”

He didn’t give Chic a chance to reply. Jughead ushered Betty to the bathroom, flipped the light open, and closed them in.  He ran the water to warm, and when the water was the perfect temperature, he cupped her hands under the stream, gently washing the blood away.  He put the cover down on the toilet for her to sit and took the towel to dry the backs of her hands. 

With her hands resting on her lap, he pulled the first aid kit from the cabinet. 

“Jug,” Betty whispered, her voice half-choked. “I don’t know what to say.”

He took a knee on the floor beside her and sighed, taking a cotton swab and used that to mop up the droplets of water that were still on her palms. “I think you pretty much covered it out there when you were screaming at Chic.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, while he poured some peroxide on a gauze pad and gently wiped it over her wounds.

He smiled, softly. “Why are you apologizing, babe?” The wounds fizzled from the peroxide and he blew on them gently to ease the sting.

She sighed. “For everything. For Chic, for the trouble you’re in, for me, self-harming again...”

“The first two aren't your fault, and the last two are things you never need to apologize for,” he said, taking some of the antiseptic and a q-tip, using the q-tip to wipe the medicine over the wounds. 

She fell quiet, just watching him work.

“How are you so calm about this?” Betty finally asked, brows furrowed. “Chic just told you the FBI is planning to arrest you.”

It did give him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was for reasons completely different from what everyone else probably expected. He took fresh strips of gauze and used them to cover the wounds. He pulled the medical paper tape and secured the gauze to her hands before he spoke again. 

He looked her in the eyes, took a deep breath, and asked, “Betty, will you let me play him the recording?”

Betty’s eyes widened. “Jug--”

“I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“Jug, of course I’ll let you play it for him,” she said, frantically. “Of course. It’s just that--”

“I know. He’s going to know about your racing.” He swallowed, wishing it didn’t have to be this way, but what choice did he have? It killed him that he was taking this agency away from her--this choice, but he didn’t know what else to do. “I’m sorry, and like I said, if you don’t want me to--”

She laid her bandaged hands atop his. “Jug… it’s not even a question. Let him listen to it. I suppose it’s about time my brother finds out, right?”

“I wish you could’ve told him under your own terms.”

“Now is as good a time as any.” Her thumb rubbed the apple of his cheek. “I don’t want them to arrest you, Jug. I will do anything to keep them from doing that.”

His heart ached for her, but there was relief and gratitude, too. He didn’t deserve her. “Thank you.”

She shook her head, leaning over to kiss him. “You didn’t have to ask, but you did, and I love you.”

If he could just take her from here, from this place, put her on his motorcycle and drive away with her, he would, but their realities were on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Ready to face Chic again?” she asked, quietly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

***************

Chic sat very still at the end of the recording. He was tapping his fingers, as if it was moving to the beat of his mind’s musings, rapid and intense.

“Why does he keep talking about Betty?” Jellybean asked. “He fixated, or something? And what does he mean by races?”

Jughead tried not to groan. Jellybean was too smart for her own good sometimes.

“It means Betty’s been drag racing for God knows how long before stumbling into Malachi’s path,” Chic replied, the tapping of his fingers never missing a beat. 

Jughead sat very still, even as his eyes darted towards Betty, who looked calmer than Jughead would’ve expected.

Betty twiddled her fingers, uneasily. “You knew?”

Chic threw her a sidelong glance. “I’ve suspected long before you raced against Malachi, but I wasn’t about to launch an investigation on my own little sister.” 

“Wait,” Archie interrupted. “Betty, you  _ race illegally?” _

_ “Cool,”  _ Jellybean whispered. 

Jughead was going to have to sit her down some other time and talk about this with  _ his  _ little sister.

“Your encounter with Malachi confirmed it,” Chic continued. “Believe me when I say that I wanted to end all of it the moment I found out, but there was the matter of you being with the leader of the Southside Serpents that night--”

Jughead sighed. “I’m not--”

The glare that Chic shot him was enough to quiet his protests. “I had to be a little more deliberate because I couldn’t risk Malachi figuring out he’s being watched, which will blow the whole case.” 

“But you told me you liked Jughead!” Betty cried. “Was that a lie?”

Jughead’s gut twisted with anxiety, expecting the worst from Chic.

Chic pursed his lips. “No, princess. I wasn’t lying. I was fucking furious at first, but I guess the secrecy I was forced to maintain gave me time to hold off and develop a better opinion of him. Jughead helped you drive Malachi away from that circuit and when I pulled his records, he did come back relatively clean. And then there’s the fact that he makes you happy and he seems like a genuinely good guy.”

Chic sounded reluctant about saying that out loud and Jughead can only be grateful that Chic prioritized Betty’s happiness above many things. 

“The only reason I didn’t put a SWAT team on you, Forsythe, is that I actually had a lot of other important things on my plate,” Chic muttered. “And your non-involvement with Malachi saved you that first time. But this time… you are in deep shit, mister.”

Jughead spoke up in a rush. It was now or never. “You have me arrested right now and you’ll put Jellybean and Archie in danger.” He didn’t dare add Betty to his list, lest Chic think he was using Betty to make his case, but the danger for Betty would’ve been true, too. 

Chic took a deep breath, as if to control his temper. “Are you even listening to me? The only reason I haven’t cuffed you and read you your rights is that you’re Betty’s boyfriend. But it’s happening, Forsythe. The FBI will and haul you in, so I came here to give you some time to prepare—“

“You’re not hearing  _ me _ , Chic,” Jughead said, his heart pounding in his ears for what he was about to do. “You obviously still need something to pin Malachi down, or else you wouldn’t be surveilling him like crazy or arresting college students. All I know is in that recording, and it isn’t much. You need more information. More evidence. You need a guy inside. You need  _ me.” _

“No,” Betty said, eyes widening. “Jughead, no!”

He took her hand to steady her shaking, but he never let go of Chic’s gaze. “I can get in there. He  _ asked  _ me without my prompting. He’s going to trust me and when he does, I can get you your evidence.”

“Dude!” Archie gasped. “Are you fucking proposing to go undercover for the FBI?”

Jellybean looked horrified. “Jug, guys like you get killed in movies, like, all the time!”

“Ah, but they don’t on TV,” Jughead managed to joke.

Betty frowned. “That’s not funny,” she hissed, her annoyance real.

“I can do this,” Jughead insisted. Chic hadn’t said anything, and that was good, because that meant Chic wasn’t saying no.

Betty turned her fury at her brother. “You can’t be considering this! Jughead has no FBI training! He can’t—“

“He just has to be himself,” Chic said, mildly.

Jughead felt the corners of his lips lifting, even as terror filled the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he knew deep down that this was the only way. 

There were a couple of things that came to him when he stood face to face with Chic’s angry mug that morning. The first being that the FBI was watching Malachi now. Whatever Malachi was doing, it was big enough to get the attention of both the FBI and DEA. The second was that as reluctant as he was to get the authorities in on this problem, he was pretty much out of options at this point, but that if he could work  _ with  _ the FBI, he could control some of this narrative. He could protect the Serpents who needed protecting,  _ and  _ he could put the Ghoulies out of business if he played his cards right. This wasn’t in conflict with his loyalties in the least. 

Chic was the answer he had been waiting for.

He just had to agree.

“Chic!” Betty cried, getting to her feet. “You can’t be serious!”

“He’s an adult. He can take care of himself,” Chic said, getting up and plucking his phone from his jacket. “Don’t anyone leave.” He made straight for Archie’s room and slammed the door shut.

Archie stared at Jughead, wide-eyed. “Dude, in theory, I should think you an awesome badass for doing this, but all I’m feeling right now are stomach cramps. You can’t fucking do this!”

Jellybean started to cry and Betty just looked at him like it was all she could do to keep herself together. 

“Babe—“

She turned and fled for his bedroom, slamming the door behind her. 

Jughead’s stomach knotted and he started to follow her. “Betts!”

Archie gripped his arm. “I’m not far from doing the same thing, Jug. What are you thinking?”

“I gotta do this, Arch. It’s the only option I have. I get arrested by the FBI, I lose everything—my freedom,  _ my life,  _ and all of you will be in danger. At least this way, the FBI can protect you and I’ve got a chance at controlling the outcome.”

“God, Jug,” Jellybean said through tears. “How are you not freaking out right now?”

Jughead sighed. “Oh, I’m screaming inside. You have no idea.”

Moments later, Chic emerged from Archie’s bedroom. “Warrant’s been called off.”

Jughead’s relief was short lived. He knew this was only the beginning.

Chic pulled out a pen and card, scribbling something behind it. “I want you to be at this address at 8:30 am sharp. It’s an office, one of many the FBI use when we don’t want the bad guys to suspect that we’re planning something. The building has a ton of recruitment firms in it and anybody who walks in there is probably just trying to get a job. No one will suspect you of colluding with the FBI. You will make your call to Malachi from there, got it?”

Jughead swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Wear a suit.”

“I got that.”

Betty emerged from Jughead’s bedroom wearing her own clothes. “I’m going to be there with him.”

Jughead knew she was going to say that.

Chic’s nostrils flared “Betty, there is no reason for you to be there—“

“You can’t tell me what to do, Chic.”

“I am an FBI agent--”

“Don’t use that shit on me. I’m your sister, and you use your position at the FBI to keep an eye on me!”

“Yes, but I’m your brother. Your  _ older  _ brother. You will do as I say.”

Jughead stifled the urge to say that one thing was not logically followed by the other, but he wasn’t stepping into  _ this  _ argument. Besides, the same kind of hinky logic overcomes him when trying to overrule Jellybean. 

Betty crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her brother. “You get in my way and I will  _ tell  _ your boss, Nick, that you pulled Jughead’s files to check up on him.”

_ Whoa,  _ Jughead thought, eyes widening at the fact that Betty was actually playing  _ that  _ kind of hardball.

Chic scoffed. “I was already investigating Malachi a couple of months back and I used the case to justify pulling Jughead’s file  _ because  _ of his possible associations with the Serpents, gang rival of the Ghoulies.”

_ Damn. _

Betty was not the least bit deterred. “I’ll tell Nick who blew the lights on the Festivus non-tree that caused the fire that almost burned down the New York office.”

“That was an accident, Princess,” Chic said in a dangerously low tone.

“I don’t care. Nick won’t care. He already suspects. And he’ll believe me! I bake chocolate crinkles for him every damn Christmas and I’ve babysat his kids!”

“Betty, that can cost me a promotion—“

“A promotion just means your job will take you away from New York for months. Why would I want my big brother to be away for such long periods of time?”

The siblings stared at one another intensely, and frankly, Jughead knew Chic was dead in the water the moment Betty declared she was going. Betty’s mixture of ruthless determination and the complete certainty that she had Chic firmly wrapped around her baby sister finger was a super power. Chic didn’t stand a chance.

“I just want to sit in,” Betty finished. “Do that and your boss will never know who killed Festivus at the office that year.”

Chic took a deep breath. “Fine. You can go.”

Betty nodded triumphantly.

“I want to learn from her,” Jellybean said in an awe-stricken voice.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Jughead told her, sternly. 

Betty started to pull her hair up in a messy bun. “Chic’s going to take me home so I can change into a business suit. Juggie, if you’re going to do this, I’m going to make sure that Chic dots all the i’s and crosses all the t’s. You are  _ not  _ going to get killed doing this, I swear to God...”

Chic scowled. “Because you’re better at this job than I am--”

“Kevin and I brought down the last drug cartel you went after.”

“Are you  _ ever  _ going to let me forget that?”

“Never.  _ Never,  _ Chic.”

Jughead sighed, but in the next moment found himself in Betty’s warm embrace, her arms over his shoulders as she looked up at him with her worried gaze.

“I’ve got you,” she told him. “I’m going to see this through with you.”

It was impossible to describe the feelings of mixed adoration and dread that her words evoked. He would never be able to convince her to stay out of this, but knowing that none of this was scaring her away made him eternally grateful that her love and loyalty was the one thing he never had to worry about. 

She kissed him, sweetly, but briefly. “I love you.”

He pulled her in for a tighter embrace. “I love you, too,” he whispered in her ear before letting her go to join Chic by the door.  

Chic shot him a look. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

Archie and Jellybean went into various spastic hand signals signifying their promise for utmost secrecy. 

Chic turned to leave, but before he could open the front door, he stopped in his tracks, something on the shelves having caught his eye. He whipped his gaze back to Jughead. “Do you have a license to carry that gun?”

Jughead pursed his lips. 

“Jesus Christ,” Chic muttered, opening the door. “That thing better not leave this house in your possession, Forsythe.”

“Jeez, Chic, lighten up!” Betty muttered as she walked through the door. “He needs it for protection!”

“I can’t with you kids. I’m an officer of the law for fuck’s sake,” Chic muttered back. 

Jughead could hear them arguing up until the door was completely closed. Only then did he go over to the kitchen to start making coffee. It wasn’t even 6 am. 

“So, Starbucks Colombia Arabica or Dunkin Donuts original blend?” he asked. 

Nothing but silence met him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that both Jellybean and Archie were gaping at him. 

“Tea, then?” Jughead asked. 

_ “Dude!”  _ Archie cried, dumbfounded. “This is crazy!”

“Welcome to my world, Arch.” He wondered if he should point out that this was why he had been reluctant to share things with Archie in the past about his Serpent activities, but he realized that was totally unfair. Even if Archie had known all about his criminal history, serving himself up to the FBI to go undercover was batshit bonkers, even for him.

Jellybean shook her head. “And you bitch when I spend time in Gabe’s apartment. Because why, exactly? Are you afraid we have a meth lab down there?”

He supposed he should be glad that Jellybean had circled this entire issue back to herself. Sometimes he missed being 17. 

“You have a gun!” Archie added, gesturing wildly to the shelf. “Is it loaded?”

Jughead rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not just for show…”

“This is dangerous, Jug.”

“The safety’s on.”

“I meant going uncover.”

Of course Jughead knew what he meant, and really, he wanted to thank Captain Obvious for his insight, but he couldn’t fault Archie for freaking out. He couldn’t fault Jellybean for questioning his big-brotherly, near-irrational house rules. This was a situation that was beyond all of them and the familiar was a comfortable fall back. 

“I either go undercover or I go to jail.” 

Archie shook his head. “You are not going to jail. The recording absolves you of any wrongdoing.”

“You can’t tell me that with my father sitting in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.” He never talked about his father with Archie all that much, and Jellybean did not have the same emotional investment for FP that Jughead did, so he didn’t talk about FP much, period, but the lessons he’d learned from his father’s incarceration was burned into his brain, the most important one being that if you wanted to stay out of jail, you had to fight for yourself, first. 

He wasn’t going to sit down and hold his wrists out. He was going to do what he needed to do to preserve what he had. 

_ Keep my loved ones safe and control the narrative,  _ he told himself again and again.

“But what if--” Jellybean began, her brow furrowing into deep grooves, but she didn’t go on. Instead, she shook her head. “Please, please, Jug… don’t get yourself killed.”

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “That’s definitely one of my top goals.”

*******************

Betty had been to this place before. 

Not this building in New York, where the glass walls towered high on the facade and its shiny marble interior, heavily decorated with blue, white, and silver blown glass, looked like Superman’s Fortress of Solitude. She had never been to this building and it was completely unfamiliar to her. 

She had been in  _ this place.  _ In her head, where it was completely silent and all the doors to everywhere else were closed.  Sometimes the silence felt like it rang in her ears, but at times like this, it was a welcome quiet, where she could focus and shut out the fear and self-doubt. 

Right now she was in a pants suit, definitely something she’d worn a little over half a dozen times to various functions in her life that required her to be in one. It was a nice gray, with tapered pants and a coat to match. Her white blouse had tiny ruffles in the front and buttons that went up to her throat. She looked very business-like, and with her hair up in a neat bun, very much like the daughter her mother had expected. 

In fact, she looked so much like her old self that when Jughead saw her, he looked a little taken aback. “Betty, wow.”

“That bad, huh?” she quipped, biting her lip nervously.

He blinked. “N-No. You look  _ great,  _ just--just incredibly professional. Sharp.”

And she supposed in that context, his surprise made sense. She was never  _ sharp.  _ She was always kind of soft around the edges, and she didn’t know why she had felt so compelled to look so uptight for this.

_ It’s because you need to keep it together.  _

“Well, we’re supposed to be submitting our resumes, aren’t we?” she said in as light a tone as she could manage. “I’m just playing the part.”

He cocked a smile, looking at himself. He looked relatively more professional, with a crisp dark blouse tucked into the waist of his belted pants and a perfectly fitted black blazer. His pants were  _ jeans,  _ however, which she thought appropriate, considering his line of work _.  _ At least he left out the beanie, which, while she loved that hair accessory on him, did hide that beautiful dark hair of his. It was lucious and free now, which made him look unbearably handsome.

“Chic’s going to yell at me,” he said.

“You’re worried about him criticizing your taste in clothing?”

“That, and my life choices of late. I don’t think he was done with me this morning.”

She had to marvel at Jughead’s ability to take apart even the most stressful situations, until she remembered that he’d probably had to deal with this sort of shit all his life--not the drug cartel part, but the part where he had to make hard choices for hard situations. 

Taking his hand in hers, they walked to the elevators and stepped into one of the cars with a crowd of people. Little by little, the crowd dwindled. They were one of the last to get off at the 34th floor. 

They stepped into a reception area, which was plainly decorated. Forgettable in its blue and gray prefabricated furnitures. The lady behind the desk looked professional, her brown hair brushed down perfectly and cascading over her black blouse, dotted with tiny flowers. She greeted them with salaried cheer. 

“Welcome to Stillson & Macey. How may I help you?” she asked when she met eyes with Betty.  

Betty remembered Chic’s instructions, which was to tell the receptionist that she was here for the Jefferson contract position. Jughead probably had instructions of his own. Either way, they would end up in the same room. 

This Spy vs. Spy stuff was immensely uncomfortable. She felt like laughing, thinking about how stupid it all was, but she had to remind herself that this was necessary so that nobody could trace back any collusion between Jughead and the FBI. It was imperative that no one knew he was working with them now.

Betty was brought to a large conference room with no windows. Chic was there with two other people--a man and a woman, both severely dressed in black suits and white collar shirts. They were set up on the long conference table with laptops and other devices that Betty couldn’t identify. 

There was a television screen at the head of the table and a wall with a mirror on it. She wondered if it was two-way. It probably was. She sat in one of the chairs when Chic waved her in. He was on the telephone with someone else, and he was using words like “Our mark,” and “infiltrate” and “wires.” 

She tried to stop the trembling of her hands. If she was going to be present for Jughead, she needed to stop feeling so scared. 

Minutes later, Jughead walked in and Betty hurriedly pulled out the chair beside her. She needed him to be beside her. Instinctively, he went to her, slipping his hand into hers, the threading of their fingers making her feel instantly calm. 

“Forsythe,” Chic said. “Betty, these are Special Agent Person and Trang. Special Agent Person is my partner and has been working with me on building a case against Malachi Garcia the past few months.”

The woman across from them stood up, her dark, curly hair tied back in a neat ponytail. Her large, dark eyes were unfailingly direct. She reached across the table to shake Betty’s and Jughead’s hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Betty. Your brother always talks about you.”

Betty wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing. 

“Heard a lot about you, too, Jughead Jones,” Agent Person continued, her lips conveying mirth and a hint of mischief. “In both a professional and personal capacity.”

“Tina,” Chic drawled in a warning tone. 

Jughead just cocked a smile. He was clearly not going to bust out the sarcasm for FBI agents.

“Special Agent Trang,” Chic continued, waving in the other agent’s direction, “is from our science and technology branch and he works with the Operational Technology team. He will be in charge or recording your phone conversation and ensuring the integrity of the evidence.”

Agent Trang shook hands with them as well. He never wavered from his serious expression, his gaze focused on his laptop and the dials on the contraptions on the table, but he did say, “Pleasure to meet you. Just have to make sure everything’s working on these things for the call…” which was his way of saying he needed to do this so excuse him for skipping any more pleasantries. 

“We’ll get to it ASAP, Jason,” Chic said. “Forsythe, do you know what you’re going to say?”

Jughead huffed. “Other than accept his offer? What else am I supposed to?”

Agent Person brought out a file and opened it in front of her, though she didn’t show it to anyone else. “Malachi Garcia likes to pretend he’s an easy-going guy and he never shows his temper, but he does have a tendency to be impulsive and careless. I listened to your recording and I understand that he antagonized you at your first encounter.”

“If you mean he threw a molotov cocktail at Betty in the middle of a race, yes, he antagonized the hell out of me.”

“Jug,” Betty whispered, taking his hand in both of hers, her eyes pleading.

Jughead took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge right now.”

Agent Person nodded patiently. “It’s alright. This is a stressful time, but I want to give you a background on who you’re dealing with. Before Malachi Garcia took over the Ghoulies, it was run by his uncle, Hector. He died under suspicious circumstances a couple of years ago.”

Jughead huffed. “Suspicious… Malachi killed his uncle.”

“That’s pretty much a given, but no evidence can be traced back to him,” Chic said. “We have a better chance at putting him away for his drug-related crimes.”

“Malachi isn’t just dealing JJ anymore,” Agent Person continued. “He’s going into meth and heroin. There’s talk of him wanting to hand off the JJ to a partner. In light of your recording, it sounds like he wants the Southside Serpents to grow that business for him. He’s shrewd. Smart. It’s what his uncle lacked. Uncle Hector was a pompous thug who liked to drive fast cars and Malachi always had bigger plans, but Malachi is reckless. He gambles. He likes a good thrill. Are you getting all this?”

Jughead nodded. “Anything else I should know? Does he have any other family?”

Agent Person shook her head. “Not even a girlfriend. He sleeps with a lot of women but none he really cares about.  No kids, no parents. Old Uncle Hector was all he had and he pushed him into a pit and set him on fire.”

Betty’s breath caught, but other than that, she showed no other sign of distress. 

Jughead paused before he said.  “I’m ready. Let’s call him.”

****************

Chic took Jughead’s phone and gave it to Agent Trang.  It was henceforth mounted on a contraption that was meant to record every single sound from the other side of the line.  It was also meant to scramble Jughead’s signal, in case the other party was tracing it. 

Jughead doubted Malachi had the means to do such a thing. He was likelier to have Jughead followed than have some IT genius triangulate Jughead’s position from a phone transmission. 

When Agent Person gave him the go signal, Jughead made the call. 

Malachi answered after two rings. “FP junior! Bright and early. You’re already surpassing your father in that regard. Uncle Hector used to say that your dad could’ve gone places if he weren’t always too drunk to get up early.”

Jughead breathed through the triggers. He had to remind himself that whatever insult was thrown in FP’s direction, it was deserved. The world did not go to bed thinking up all the dark and light shades of FP Jones just so they can justify visiting him in jail.  That was an exclusively Jughead thing. So he swallowed his anger and said, “Yeah, I’m a real upgrade. Version 3.0.”

Malachi’s laughter turned Jughead’s stomach. “This is why I like you, Jughead. You’ve learned from the mistakes of your elders.” 

“I’ve learned to look out for myself,” he replied, channeling some of that old resentment he’d harbored when he had felt alone and abandoned at 15.  It felt ill-fitting on his skin, now, having lived and surrounded himself with people he knew would stick by him no matter what. 

“So, are you calling to tell me some good news?”

Jughead looked up and met eyes with Chic, who nodded with businesslike encouragement. 

“I thought about your proposal,” Jughead said. “And I’m interested in pursuing a partnership with you.”

“You never disappoint, junior. I knew you’d come to your senses. What made you decide?”

“I’m a practical guy, Malachi. I have people who rely on me. And I want--” He bit his lip, steeling himself for the truth he was about to utter that was was being used for a lie. “I want to be able to give Betty everything she wants. I can’t do that if I have to take care of the Serpents, too.”

“There’s the precious Jughead Jones I’ve heard about. Soft and pretty on the outside but vicious and poisonous on the inside.”

Jughead flinched at the description. He never wanted to know what his enemies thought of him. It was disconcerting, especially if they thought he was worse than he actually was. He bit down his uneasiness and went back to business. “The Serpents will buy your JJ, wholesale, and sell the product throughout Union county, exclusively, and I promise you that we’ll have Essex and Morris by next year.”

“I like these big promises! And the profit?”

“What about the profit?” Jughead growled. 

“70-30 split?”

“Sure, we’ll take the 70.”

Malachi laughed uproariously. “That’s 30 for you, junior.”

“Go fuck yourself, Malachi,” Jughead shot right back. “The Serpents aren’t doing all that for a fucking 30% cut. I’m not Tall Boy.”

“Come off it, junior. Do you even have $150,000 to pay upfront to get the JJ from me?”

“I have what I need to do business with you and I’m not giving you 70% of the profits. If you want to stick with the Standard Package, then by all means, keep working with Tall Boy. He’s already sucking your dick. I’ve got better things to do for 30 fucking percent.” Now he was  _ really  _ getting into the weeds of this. “And by the way, that $150K worth of JJ better be a  _ shit ton  _ of product.”

“It’s 300 pounds of the stuff--”

“300 pounds? That’s it? That better be fucking laced with diamonds, asshole.”

“Why are you being such a hardass, Jones?” Malachi exclaimed. 

“Because you need me and the Serpents to grow your business, chief. You can’t get that foothold on cocaine and heroin you so desperately want if your JJ dealing is taking up so much of your time.”

“Whoa, Columbia! Lookit’ chu! You know your stuff.”

“I’m FP Jones III. I don’t fuck around.

“Fine. I get it. $150,000 can get you about 500 pounds of the stuff.”

Jughead paused. He didn’t care about the drugs, and he could probably get Chic to produce the cash for this sting operation, but he had to ask himself what he would do if he were actually negotiating for real. 

“That works,” he finally said. “So when are we going to finalize this deal?”

“When you tell me what else you can bring to the table, my friend.”

Jughead didn’t expect this. “My Serpents are what I bring to the table. The money I’m going to give you to buy your goddamn drugs are what I bringing to the table.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s enough.”

Jughead looked up at Chic who was shaking his head and pursing his lips. 

Betty tugged at his sleeve as she quietly grabbed a pen and paper, furiously writing something down on it. She wrote: “Get him back into the CIRCUIT!!!”

_ The Circuit. The racing circuit. _

Betty was, as always, a genius.

“I can get you back into Hans’s races,” Jughead offered, mildly. “You wanted in on that to sell your drugs, didn’t you? Take your business around the tri-state area.”

“Now we’re talking!” Malachi said, jubilantly. “You think you can get your girl to let me back in?”

Jughead arched his eyebrow at Betty questioningly and she nodded in confirmation. “That’s the plan. I’ll talk to her. It should be good.”

“Yeah, man. You do what you have to do to get your girl to agree. Then tell me  _ all about  _ how you did it, slowly.” The cackling in the background made Jughead’s skin crawl and Jughead seriously wanted to cut the call off. These Ghoulies were so disgusting that the only way he’d feel clean again was to ride over there and beat the shit out of somebody, but the gentle stroke of Betty’s hand on his arm, coupled with the slight squeeze of her hand in his, gave him the strength to control his temper. 

This was all for show. None of this was real.  He just needed to convince Malachi that they were good.  

“I’ll let you know when I’ve talked to Hans,” Jughead said. 

“Excellent! Let’s make an event of it, too. Make it bigger and better for business.” 

Jughead could hear the grin on Malachi’s face as he said it. “I’m not going to let you race Betty again, asshole. Everyone knows she’s a better driver than you are.”

Betty scowled at him and he shrugged unapologetically. What did she expect him to do? Serve her up to play Malachi’s game? No fucking way. 

“You are such a killjoy, junior, but as scintillating as racing Betty is--and believe me, I’ve had  _ those _ dreams, that wasn’t what I was getting at. How about we play up our old rivalries? Ghoulies vs. Serpents. Malachi vs. the Serpent Prince. I know you know how to drive fast, Jones. It’ll be epic.”

Jughead sighed. “If Hans agrees, then we’ll race.”

“I knew there was a thrill junkie in there somewhere! Care to make a wager on it? You win, you get twenty percent of that evening’s earnings. I win, you get nothing.”

This was, of course, completely pointless, since none of these dealings would ever come to fruition for real, and Jughead was already exhausted. He did not deal with drug lords on the regular and Malachi seemed particularly tiring with all his pomp and circumstance, but Jughead promised he would get this done and when he promised something, he was all in. “How about if I win, I get ten percent of the earnings that night and I get to deal the JJ in that circuit with 50% of our earnings going to you. You win, I get nothing that night  _ and  _ we’ll split JJ earnings 40-60?”

“I don’t need you to sell JJ for me there.”

“Hans would never let you back in without a huge payoff. Your mistake was that you didn’t talk to him first to get his buy in. If Betty and I talk to him, he’ll be more reasonable in his terms. You need us.”

“You and your girl, eh?”

“It’s her circuit, not mine.”

“Alright. Do what you gotta do. And one other thing, dude. If you’re going to race me, you can’t use Betty’s car.”

_ Great.  _

It’s not like he had cars lying around that he could just take up to race with, but he supposed he just had to wing this part. Maybe Chic can get him one? Or maybe one of the Serpents had something they could work with. Sweet Pea might be able to hook them up. 

“Come on, junior. If you don’t have one, steal one. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Jughead winced, eyeing the FBI agents warily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Malachi, but I’ll have a car for the race. No problem.”

“And Tall Boy? What are you going to do with him?”

“You leave Tall Boy to me,” Jughead said through grit teeth. 

“Great. Looks like we got ourselves some action items. You get me back in the races and we can finalize our partnership after that. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Talk to you soon.” Jughead ended the call.

When Agent Trang gave the thumbs up, Agent Person gave a nod of approval. “Good work, Mr. Jones. Now I suppose we’ll have to secure $150,000 for you.”

“Right,” Jughead replied, miserably. 

Betty pressed her palm to his face. “You’re going to be okay.”

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her hand soothe his frayed nerves. He clung to her hand because if he didn’t, he’d be trembling. 

“You’ll need a car, then,” Chic said. “And I’ll put together a team for when you talk to Hans, a.k.a, William Teller.”

“We might need a car,” Jughead espoused. “But Betty and I will talk to Hans ourselves. I don’t think we need an entire FBI team over there.”

“Not your choice, Forsythe.”

Jughead shot Betty a helpless look. 

“I don’t want to get him in trouble, Chic,” Betty interjected. “I need his circuit. I don’t want him to get shut down.”

Chic shook his head seriously. “I don’t know if I can promise that, Princess. He’s running an illegal operation. As a law enforcement organization, we’re obligated to shut them down once we’re done utilizing them for our investigation.”

Jughead felt Betty’s fingers tighten around his and he could see the panic in her eyes.  

“But you didn’t shut it down before!”

“It didn’t fall into our scope before, especially after you and Forsythe drove Malachi out of it, but once this investigation is over, and especially if Hans gets involved with selling Malachi’s drugs, they’re going to have to get shut down and we’ll have the authority to pursue it. I’m sorry, Betty, but that’s just the way things are.”

Agent Person and Agent Trang called Chic’s attention and they huddled on their side of the table. 

Jughead could see the tension around Betty’s shoulders, the vacant look in her eyes, and the painful biting of her lips. 

“Let’s step outside, babe,” he whispered, pulling her to her feet. 

Numbly, she followed him, and he found them a quiet corner along the hallway where he coaxed her to look him in the eyes. 

“Betty, are you okay?” he asked, gently. 

She took a deep breath, and she nodded, but she did not look okay at all. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “If I had known Chic would shut down the circuit, I wouldn’t have--”

“No, Juggie. This isn’t your fault. I served up the circuit in the first place. You needed to get this deal with Malachi done and that was the way to do it. And I needed to stop racing illegally, anyway. What better motivation than having it raided by the FBI? It will be a while yet, anyhow. I can probably get a couple of races out of it…”

“Betts--”

“I’m fine. I promise. There are bigger things to worry about.  We’ll get you through this. This is what matters.”

He remembered promising that he wouldn’t treat her like Chic and Polly do, like she would break, but he couldn’t help the worry that was growing in his heart. The racing was important to her. It was part of her identity. It made her whole. 

His thoughts must have been plain on his face, because she said, “No, really, Juggie. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed her. 

 

*************

  
That night, Jughead listened helplessly as Betty, at first, told him, yet again, that she was going to be alright, only to realize minutes later that she was sobbing quietly in her pillow.  

“Babe,” Jughead whispered, slipping his arms around her from behind. “Please talk to me.”

She turned over to face him, burying her face in his chest. “I’m scared, Juggie. I’m scared for you and I’m--I’m scared of what will happen after the races are shut down. It’s just so overwhelming right now. What if something happens to you? What if I can’t go on without the racing? What in the ever-loving fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Betty,” he whispered compassionately, smoothing her damp hair away from her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Your brother will not let anything happen to me. I’m going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” she whined, quietly. “You don’t know, Jug. And you know what gets to me? That this is all my fault.”

“Betts, how can you say that? This isn’t your fault at all.” 

“Isn’t it?” she demanded through her tears. “This is all because of me! If I hadn’t brought you to the races, then Malachi wouldn’t have gotten territorial. The Serpents never would’ve contacted you, and none of  _ this  _ would be happening.”

He cupped her face in his hands, looking her in the eyes. “If I hadn’t gone to the races with you that night, there would be no  _ us.  _ We’re who we are, we’re together, because I went with you. Nothing else matters after that.” 

“Jug,” she whispered, crumpling the front of his shirt in her fists. “I love you and I will do anything for you. If you get out of this in one piece, I will be grateful and relieved and I will never ask for anything ever again, but I will also be afraid. I already am. I’m scared that without the racing my mind’s going to find those dark places again. With the racing, I feel sure. I feel brave enough, but if the races have to be taken from me, I don’t know if I can keep being strong. _ ” _

He kissed her forehead. “You  _ are  _ strong. On your own. You just have to believe that it’s in you, not in that garage in Queens. Hans is not the keeper of who you are.  _ You  _ are the keeper of who you are.”

“I brought this on myself,” she said through her stuffy nose. “I could have gone legal as soon as I got my license, but I didn’t. I just kept on sneaking out and going into these goddamn--it’s like I was addicted, convincing myself that my story was about my mother and some bullshit I cooked up about having this for myself--”

“That was not bullshit,” Jughead said, sternly. “Those feelings you had were real and that was you working through your PTSD in the best way you knew how. Stop beating yourself up for wanting control of your life.”

She fell quiet. “What am I going to do when Alice’s voice starts to get loud again?”

He watched her beautiful green eyes fill with deep fear. She never really talked about what went through her head when she needed the races. She just always went to them, embracing the joy almost immediately without ever letting on what drove her to do it.

He rubbed the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “Is that what happens? You hear your mom’s voice in your head?”

She nodded. “I’m kinda crazy, Juggie.”

He shushed her softly. “What does she tell you?”

She sighed, her eyes rolling. “Stupid stuff.”

“Like what? Tell me. So I can help you find the words to answer back.”

She stared up at him, her fingers tracing tiny doodles on his shirt. “She says I’ve gone past my quota of calories this week. She tells me that it’s rude to cry. She tells me that no one cares how smart I am. If it looks like there’s something wrong with me, that is what they will remember me for. She tells me my skirt is for sluts. My boobs are obscene. My hair is a mess. That I am going to be pregnant and alone. She told me she hated what I was becoming two minutes after she convinced me she loved me.”

There was so much pain there that Jughead wanted to bundle all of it up, set it on fire, then cast it out into the sea. “Betty, your mother lied. She lied to you to keep you under her control, but she doesn’t have that power over you anymore. You don’t have to let her control you anymore. Everything that you are now is what I and everyone else loves you for and if you ever, ever hear that voice again, you tell me, and we’ll tell it off together.” He kissed her eyelids one at a time. “Like this: I love watching you enjoy your food. I’m in love with your brain. I love your short skirts and your boobs and your hair,  _ especially  _ messy, like this. And if I ever  _ do  _ knock you up, I’m going to stick around whether you like it or not.”

She slapped his chest lightly, but she was grinning, and her tears had dwindled away to nothing. “I don’t deserve you.”

He sighed, holding her tighter. “Betts, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re--you’re so important to me. Understand?”

She said nothing for several seconds before she nodded, pressing her cheek against his chest. They stayed quiet for several seconds, Jughead just enjoying the closeness. He worried about her, but he was glad he could soothe her when she needed it most. 

“Thank you, Juggie.”

“Betts, I will do anything for you.”

“I know,” she sighed and moved up to kiss him.

When he felt her tongue slip into his mouth, he greeted it with his own, and by the time they pulled apart, his lust was buzzing through his body. He’d been preoccupied the entire day with worries of drugs and killers, so it was reasonable that he hadn’t had a single sexual thought about her since Chic barged into his apartment. He didn’t think that was ever possible, to go a day without thinking of Betty and how he could make her feel good with his touch, with his body between her legs, with his mouth sucking bruises into her skin. Now suddenly, it was like his body had remembered that,  _ hey, you are in bed with her _ , and now that it found this foothold, it didn’t feel like it wanted to let go. It was just that he didn’t want to subject Betty to his need for her in her emotional state. It felt wrong and selfish.

Still, the way she opened her mouth to accept his tongue, the way her fingers curled around the strands of his hair, and the way her body arched against his, sent his body into instant readiness.

“Betty, baby, I want you so badly right now but are you sure--”

“Yes, Juggie. I need you. Please...” She pressed her mouth to his throat, circling a pulse point there with her tongue while her hand traced a path from his chest to the waistband of his pants. She grasped his dick with a gentle squeeze and slid her grip along his length. 

He groaned, his body going on overdrive. He was painfully aroused and he wanted to keep going, kissing her on the neck and probing the sensitive skin there with his tongue. “I’ll make you feel so good, Betts.”

She sighed, lifting her knees and hooking her ankles behind him. “God, yeah. Do what you have to do.”

He did, over and over, all night long.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is getting close to being finished.


	18. Going the Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jughead and Betty dive head-first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I recognize that this chapter could be low-key, so I put in some sex.  
> 2\. The inner workings of the FBI are a mystery to me, but considering we have an FBI agent in the show meeting up with under-aged kids in their garages, I think my version of things is reasonably better.  
> 3\. I am still reeling from The SceneTM. I will never, ever get over it. 
> 
> I hope you like this new chapter.

 

 

The arena is empty except for one man

Still driving and striving as fast as he can

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup

But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns

He's going the distance

He's going for speed

She's all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need

Because he's racing and pacing and plotting the course

He's fighting and biting and riding on his horse

He's going the distance

\--The Distance, by Cake

 

 

Betty’s lips were pursed tight, her green eyes bright with unspoken words, and Jughead knew that was not good.

They were staring at a 1973 F-Bomb Chevrolet Camaro with a worn olive drab finish and a black front grill that was rusted in parts. It was obviously old, but it wasn’t terrible to look at.  It actually looked quite cool.  

Behind Jughead, Sweet Pea and his gang of body shop and garage buddies looked on with curiosity.

“Needs some work,” Toni said. “But she’s a beauty.”

Jughead nudged Toni gently. “Don’t let Betty hear you say that. She does _not_ look happy.”

The FBI, disguised as a towing company, had just  dropped off the car at Sweet Pea’s workplace.  In preparation for Jughead’s street race, Betty had asked Chic to send over the car that she had specified so she could take a look at it, make the necessary adjustments, and get it ready for the race.

Judging by the look on Betty’s face and her whispered, “What the ever-loving hell…” as soon as she laid eyes on the car, she was _just about_ ready to raise Abaddon.

Taking a deep breath, she took out her phone and probably dialed Chic’s number, walking farther away from the group, presumably so that she wouldn’t be heard.

“I’ll be right back,” Jughead told Toni aside as he followed after Betty. She was rounding the corner, behind a pile of scrap metal, and as he neared her, he could make out her fierce whispering over her phone.

 _“Chic.”_ She threw her hand up, exasperation clear in her tone. “This is not a 2016 Chevrolet Camaro--I don’t care if this is a classic F-Bomb. There is a forty year difference between 2016 and 1973! Are you saving in change? It’s not like you couldn’t have afforded a 2016 model! Where did you even dig this thing up? Yeah, I _know_ I restored my 1969, but that was because I didn’t have _money to buy the latest and fastest model--_ I need parts to pick this up! I can’t just--you are going to send me what I ask, like _immediately._ I can’t deal with--I am writing you a list in the next hour. You better get me _everything._ Oh, my God, Chic! Why would I trust anyone else with this?”

Betty stabbed her phone screen multiple times in annoyance before putting it away in a huff. Running her hands over her ponytailed hair and folding over to sit on a one gallon bucket of paint, she hung her head between her shoulders and took deep, cleansing breaths.

Jughead crouched to her side. “Betts, what did Chic say?”

She looked up, her exhausted eyes pleading with him for what looked like relief. “He said this was what they had on short notice and that he can send over a couple of guys to make the upgrades—like I’d let another one of them touch this car! Seriously, Jug! It’s like he doesn’t know me!”

He reached up and massaged the crook of her shoulder and neck.  “Breathe, baby.”

She did, methodically.

“Betty,” he went on, gently. “You haven’t had a good night’s rest in the last couple of days. Maybe we _should_ just let Chic’s guys--”

She frowned, halting his words. “They know nothing about street racing, Juggie. We’ll have enough trouble explaining how we got this car. This is a classic. It’s impossible to get a hold of and… I don’t want _anyone_ to suspect anything in the least.” She said that last part in a desperate whining tone, thereafter pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. She sniffled and Jughead put his arms around her, pulling her in a comforting embrace.  

Her shoulders shook once before she looked up. Her red rimmed eyes met his concerned ones. “I just want you to be okay, Juggie. We’ve only got three days to get you ready for this. I may have a couple of days to get that car up to speed, so to speak, and--”

“You’ve got help this time,” he told her soothingly. “Sabrina’s coming over, right? And Sweet Pea and his crew are no slouches. They can make your job easier.”

She sighed, nodding. “What did you tell them about all this? About the car and the race?”

He hadn’t told “them”, the Serpents, much, just that the he was working something out and that they had to trust him, telling both Sweet Pea and Toni how it was imperative that recording with Malachi and Tall Boy didn’t get leaked because his life depended on it. They knew Jughead was up against Malachi in the next race, and while Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni were suspicious that something bigger was going down, the rest of the Serpents seemed to think it was exciting news.

When Sweet Pea asked about the race, all Jughead said was, “The less you know, the better,” which did nothing to alleviate Sweet Pea’s suspicions, but when Jughead reiterated that he needed their support right now to move forward, they grudgingly stopped asking. They trusted him enough to let him lead without further explanation, but _that_ was on borrowed time. They understood there was an urgency and they weren’t going to bog him down by demanding for details, but they will ask again and Jughead would have to give them _something._

“Practically nothing,” Jughead replied. “Except that we have this race and that I need a car, which we were able to score from your race connections.”

Betty blew a breath through her lips. “I can’t imagine they were happy about that. Are you planning on letting them in on any of this?”

“I’ll have to if I want to pull this off, but I have to talk to your brother—not that I have much leverage, but we’ll see. I’m going day to day on this one.”

She nodded. “So am I. But Jug, let me help you with the FBI. You’re a witness, not a suspect. And even if you were a suspect, you have rights. I can help you.”

He thanked her, softly, grateful for her loyalty.

They were both winging this, which is probably why they both felt exhausted.

They had spoken to Hans the day before, with Betty proposing the race matchup as the FBI listened on.

There was something about a proper grudge match that got the blood pumping. It moved people into a frenetic  vibration, and Hans was not immune to it. When Betty said, “Malachi wants to race Jughead and Jughead’s not afraid,” Hans was jumping.

“This is the _shit!”_ he had cried, elated by Betty’s proposal.

Betty worked it up as if she hadn’t been in tears the night before, talking about it with Jughead, scared for his life and her sanity. She had put on a game face that was almost chillingly perfect. She told Hans she wanted to see Malachi smoked by the Serpent Prince, as if getting beaten by Hard to Get Betts hadn’t been humiliating enough.

Hans was practically orgasmic at the prospect of making so much money. This was going to be a race for the ages.

She had looked Hans dead in the eyes and said, “You know Malachi comes with more than just nice cars, don’t you, Hans?”

Hans arched an eyebrow, probably wondering if Betty meant what he thought she meant. And he said, “Wouldn’t be the first time drugs were sold in my circuit. Is Malachi going to call me about it this time?”

Betty had paused, not wanting to serve Hans’s head on a platter for the FBI to feast on. “If you want that business, Hans, you let us know, and we’ll talk to Malachi about it.”

And just like that, it was established that the Ghoulie Lord and the Serpent Prince were working together.

Hans had said he would think about it. Betty was yet to receive that call, but she made sure that Hans knew Malachi would be pushing hard to sell.

If Hans wanted to protect his territory, he shouldn’t let Malachi do it without a fee, but if it were up to Betty, she would have encouraged him to take nothing. The only thing that kept her was the reality that it would make Hans suspicious and it might blow the entire sting operation wide open.

Now she was, against all her fears, doing what she had to do. Jughead could only admire her strength, but just like her, he was bone tired.

“Yo, J,” came Fang’s voice from beyond the mountain of scrap metal. “Blonde chick with a buncha tattoos is here looking for Betty.”

Betty sighed with relief. She stood and hurried out to meet Sabrina.

Jughead allowed himself a tiny smile. He knew that Sabrina and working on the car would make Betty feel a little better.

Betty welcomed Sabrina with open arms. “God, I’m so glad you’re here, Sab!” She introduced Sabrina to everybody, and Jughead didn’t miss the sticky look that Sweet Pea cast in Sabrina’s direction.

Sabrina wasn’t too subtle about liking that attention from him, either.

When McFadden made the mistake of mentioning that the F-Bomb Chevrolet Camaro had rare parts that needed _delicate_ handling, Sabrina’s eyebrow arched in surprise and Betty got that _look_ on her face.

“Sit your ass down Fixit Felix,” Betty said, curtly. “And let the pros handle this.”

Toni must have laughed the loudest at that one.

Betty opened the F-Bomb’s hood, setting the stand and leaning in to look with Sabrina. Betty called Sweet Pea and a couple of other body shop guys over to take a look and get their feedback.

“This was a beast in its day, Coop,” Sabrina said. “But this engine needs a 2016 upgrade. Change it to a V-6 twin turbo–the car’s for a race, not soccer practice, so fuel consumption is irrelevant.”

Betty grinned. “Add an Injen or K&N cold air induction system, stock SS mid-pipe, maybe an MRT muffler and ported throttle body…”

“Long-tube headers, too. Probably American Racing brand…”

Betty nodded. “We can get it up to over 1,000 hp. It’ll rip through the strip and it might even go faster than mine...”

Jughead had to breathe. How did he even get this amazing woman to look in his direction?

“God, help me,” Toni whispered. “I didn’t understand a word they said but I am really turned on right now.”

He shot her the obligatory scolding glare, but he couldn’t exactly blame her.

Sweet Pea and his coworkers were already clumped around the engine, giving their own suggestions on what could be done to make the engine and the look of the car better.

Minutes later, Betty had sent a text to Chic for all the parts they would need, which Chic promised would be delivered in a couple of hours.

While they waited, Betty and Sabrina worked on prepping the car for the new engine while Sweet Pea and his crew started on the body work.

“This is going to be a super sweet ride, J,” Sweet Pea promised. “Our fearless leader needs to look good going in that race.”

Jughead stifled a sigh. He wanted to tell Sweet Pea that he wasn’t going to be the Southside Serpents president, but it wasn’t the right time. He needed to see this business with Malachi through.

“Betty’s friends, man,” Sweet Pea said in a low tone. “That Sabrina chick’s smoking hot. She straight?”

Jughead remembered Sabrina hooting and hollering at him when he visited Riveter Auto Repair. “She likes guys.”

“You think she’d—“

Jughead couldn’t believe _anybody_ was asking him for romantic advice. “Hey, only one way to find out.”

Sweet Pea smirked. Sabrina had slid under the car on a creeper and Betty was cranking something with a tool under the hood. “God, I love gearheads, especially when they look like that.”

Jughead grinned, sighing contentedly as he watched Betty unscrew a cap with a tool. Her headphones were on and she was singing something under her breath as she worked. She wore an old pair of jeans and a ratty tank under a mechanic’s top, but working on a car’s engine like that, she was sexy to watch. “Yeah. You understand why I’m whipped, right? You won’t take that against me?”

Sweet Pea scoffed. _“Everyone_ here is whipped right now. Those two ladies can tell everyone here to jump off a cliff and they’ll do it.”

Sometimes it felt like that everyday with Betty. She could tell him to do many things and he’d do it. If anything happened to her, he would be a boat without a sail. Everything would stop and he’d be completely unmoored.

“What would you do if someone threatened your girl, Sweet Pea?” he asked, quietly.

“I’ll pack them off and send them away. Period.”

“Betty will kill me if I did that to her. She’ll never speak to me again.”

Sweet Pea shrugged. “Better that than dead.”

Jughead shook his head and picked up a large wrench. He walked over to Betty and offered the wrench to her. “I have a bigger tool.”

She looked up from her work, startled. He grinned and she laughed.

“Why, Jughead Jones. Is that a dick joke?”

“I would _never._ It’s just physics, babe. The longer it is, the easier it is to get off. The cap, I mean.”

Betty laughed and Sabrina, from under the car, hooted. “Those the kind of lines you used to get Betty?”

“I’m a writer, you know.”

“I’m putting my music on loud, now,” Sabrina declared.

Jughead leaned over the hood’s edge and stared at Betty fondly, adoring the way a strand of blonde hair had fallen over her eye. She tried to blow it off but it kept coming back.

“And this is how I get grease on my face,” she explained, trying to push her hair back with her wrist.

He reached over and pushed her hair back for her. “You are so gorgeous, babe. Especially doing this. I have to stop watching you or I will probably disintegrate.”

“Jug. God, you’re… come here and kiss me.”

He did, leaning over the engine, his fingers in her hair. This was not a chaste kiss. Somehow, the stresses of the last few days, that unfulfilled need to keep her away from all this, and just generally how much he loved her, coalesced into that kiss, his tongue sweeping at her lips, her mouth moving firmly against his. He didn’t even care if anyone saw them, or if Sabrina heard them.

When they separated, she sighed, smiling dreamily. “Now _that_ was a kiss.”

“To be continued,” he whispered.

She kissed him again, briefly, but with searing heat. “To be continued.”

 

************

 

On the third day, the rusty F-Bomb that was first delivered to the garage was now a gleaming speed dragon, with a semi-matte black finish and Serpent green accent stripes. The double-headed S-snake with its little crown, so distinctly Jughead’s symbol, was painted artfully along the rear on the car’s driver side. The windows had been widened to eliminate the old problem of the pillbox view and the dashboard looked like new, with its upgraded computer hidden under the dash.

When Jughead turned the key, the engine purred like a powerful beast. Cheers erupted throughout the garage, and when his eyes met Betty’s, she beamed proudly, with Sabrina shaking her affectionately by the shoulders. The car had been a group effort, but Betty had led this project and the resulting car was a triple threat in speed, handling, and sheer style.

He smirked, jerking his his head to urge Betty closer.

She sauntered over to his window and leaned against the top. “Wanna take it for a test drive?”

His fingers smoothed over the steering wheel. He hadn’t driven a car like this in a long while. He still remembered how to drive a manual, that was for sure, but what shook him were the feelings of excitement, that rush of adrenaline. The last time he felt this way, he was stealing a car.

“Do you think I should try to beat Malachi?” His question wasn’t a random one. He’d been thinking about it for days.

She nodded without hesitation, speaking softly so that no one else could hear them. “You should. It’s what he’d expect of you, and with you racing for the cut of the circuit profits, you might gain yourself a bit more leverage if you win—leverage you can use for _anything_ to do with Malachi.”

That was sound reasoning. Getting a bit of leverage over Malachi was crucial. He needed to gain as much control as he can over this situation.  

Also, she’d been worried about how he was going to pull this off. He wasn’t an actor so it was easy to get caught in a lie if he didn’t just go with what he would’ve naturally done.

“Then I guess I’m going to need some pointers,” he said.

“Don’t ride the clutch and don’t let it slip between gear shifts.”

He chuckled, glad that her gearhead mind was strong at work. “Care to show me how, babe? I need practice drifting.”

She grinned broadly. “I’m sure we can find the time.”

There was that smile he was looking for, however brief. That unbridled look of accomplishment that seemed to have so easily permeated her before all this.

It had only been a week since this all began and everything about it had been a slow, painful branding, like the bruises beneath their eyes were slowly being dug in, like sustenance was a means of fuel instead of food to be enjoyed, like moving was a way to push the clock forward to the inevitably frightening future.

He remembered how to drive fast. He probably remembered how to drift, but he wanted to give her every sense of familiarity he could manage, to remind her that in spite of everything, he was present for her.  Not for the FBI, not for the Serpents, but for her.

Because the last week had been mostly driven by the determination to get through and survive. It was almost business-like when they weren’t being each other’s significant other. When they weren’t intimate, they were _working--_ Betty souping up the engine, Jughead meeting up with Chic undercover to make plans, Betty finalizing things with Hans, and Betty aggressively fighting for Chic to get the FBI to cover Jughead _and_ his Serpents--and on top of that, _school._ It seemed silly to think that they had to keep their shit together in Columbia, but that’s what they had to do, because that’s what they were fighting for, their lives and how they were living it. It was harrowing but necessary, and they both felt stretched thin.

Sleep had been impossible without her, and she felt it, too. In the two nights they thought they’d be sleeping in their respective apartments, she had come knocking on his door late one night and him on her door in another. And maybe it was because they were so secure in the depth of their feelings that it was completely acceptable that their bodies would crash together to find that blessed relief, that all-consuming pleasure, that blissful forgetfulness that would come to them whenever they fucked each other hard.

The last week had been so emotionally and physically exhausting that sometimes he felt that their vigorous sex was the only thing that helped both of them cope. That and these little pockets of _being_ Betty and Jughead: In love.

So he and Betty went to an abandoned airport strip, and _practiced._ It was exhilarating, first to watch her drive the car so she could demonstrate, and then have him take the wheel.

He was right. He hadn’t forgotten how to drive fast and hard. He needed a few pointers on how to manage acceleration to get the most out of his engine, and he did need to polish his drifting, but it didn’t take long for him to master both, and when he had practiced and learned what he can, Betty fucked him in his souped up F-Bomb. There wasn’t a whole lot of space in the back seat, but it was enough.

His head was practically hitting the windows and her knees were practically up to her ears, but it felt too damn good and the adrenaline too intense to make the cramped quarters matter.

After he got her off twice, he let himself go inside her. She was on the pill, she said, and they probably shouldn’t be relying on that sort of thing too often, but he was past thinking at that point, thrusting into her and his orgasm blowing his mind.

As kinky as it was to have sex in the backseat of a sports car in the middle of an old, grimy abandoned airport, they cuddled. They always did. He sat slumped on the seat as she straddled him, his hands slowly moving up and down her spine to keep her close, his nose and lips nestled between her breasts.

His lips sucked softly at the lovely swell of them, soothing the pressure with his tongue, and she giggled.

“I bet you always wanted to do me in the back of a sports car,” she whispered.

“This is all my dreams come true.” He looked up, leaning his head back against the low headrest. “I can’t believe I have a beautiful naked woman with me in the back seat of a car.”

She caressed his face. “I will give you so much more than this, Jughead. So much more. Just be careful. God, please--”

“Betty,” he said, softly. _“This_ is the only thing keeping me together right now. I can’t lose _this,_ what we have. I can’t.”

She sighed, fitting herself even closer around him until all the spaces were filled.

He breathed in the lavender scent of her skin, nuzzling the tender patch at the crook of her neck and closing his eyes.

They stayed that way for several minutes, reveling in the closeness, enjoying the warmth, and basking in the intimacy. When she shifted to look at his face, he resisted a bit, not wanting the quiet calm to end.

“Juggie, that affidavit we worked on and sent to Chic? He sent it back with the changes we asked for. Have you looked at it? I’ve read it. It has everything and I think it will protect your crew quite well.”

He sighed, sad that the spell was broken. “I’ve read it, and yeah, it’s solid. I’ve sent it back with my signature.”

She nodded. “Good. You can get around to telling Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs, then. You can’t do this alone.”

Jughead sighed again, and Betty gave him a mildly scolding look. She reached for her shirt and he watched a little forlornly as she put it on. It meant their fun was over and they had to get back to reality.

He had mulled over that affidavit for hours—would have mulled it over for days if he had the luxury of time, wondering if he had any right to get his gang involved with the FBI. Would they consider him a traitor? Would they hate him for going to law enforcement? Would they tell him that it was just so typical of the white dude to trust the authorities because he was less likely to go to jail than they were?

“Juggie,” Betty prompted, gently. “Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”

When he cast her a lopsided look that said _You know what’s troubling me,_ she added, “I mean, specifically.”

“They’re going to hate me for this, Betts,” he replied. “I am putting their lives at risk.”

She shook her head. “The affidavit is to protect them and I promised you I’d make sure all documentation’s sewn tight—if I can’t go undercover with you, I can protect your rights and the rights of our friends. You’re a _witness,_ Jug, and they’re using you and your resources to build their case. Chic recognizes that your full cooperation hinges on the fact that your friends are protected from prosecution, no matter what you ask them to do, so long as it’s in pursuit of building their case file on Malachi’s cartel.”

“Is that what I am? A witness? Sometimes I feel like the snitch that got caught.”

“You set out to take care of your gang, Jughead. You are doing exactly that with _this,_ but you’ll need Sweet Pea’s help, at least. If you don’t want to tell Toni and Fangs, at least tell Sweet Pea.”

She was right, of course. He needed to tell his closest and most trusted, and he had to convince them that the FBI wasn’t going to come for them and their families. Local law enforcement had never advocated for them, but he would have to trust that Federal law enforcement, more specifically Betty’s brother, would respect their Civil Rights.

This was going to be a tough sell.

 

**********

 

Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs said nothing at first, staring at him in abject disbelief, and then it got a _little_ ugly.

None of the Serpents had any reason to trust the government. The government hadn’t cared about them in years, and now it expected them to help put away a drug lord?

“J, what are you thinking?” Sweet Pea yelled.

“I’ll tell you what he’s thinking,” Toni spat bitterly. “Losing his gains: Columbia, Betty, his cushy apartment in Manhattan…”

“Cushy?” was all Jughead could say. He almost laughed. “The Wyrm’s cellar is bigger than my entire apartment.”

They were at the Wyrm, one day before race day, and they were at the fire escape. He had no idea if it could handle four grown adults, two of which were towering guys who were _at least_ 180 pounds each. It used to be able to hold them all quite firmly, but they were all puny teenagers back then.

However, it was the only private place they had at the moment. He could have invited them to the said cushy apartment, but Archie and Jellybean were there and they didn’t need to know any more than they already did. Betty didn’t want to give Kevin too many details, either, so that space was out of the question.

This was actually quite perfect. With him blocking the stairwell, they couldn’t just up and walk out on him, unless Sweet Pea threw him off the railing.

Still totally possible but he had faith that Sweet Pea wouldn’t want to kill him. Hurt him, maybe, but not kill him.

He didn’t deny the rest of Toni’s accusations. “I was backed into a corner, yes. Honestly, I was ready to go to jail, but I saw a way to stay out of it, and I realized I can put Malachi away for the FBI. If I did that successfully, I can end our drug problem for good. Believe me when I say I didn’t want to involve you, but it was going to happen, so I made sure to protect you— _in writing.”_

He showed them the affidavit Chic drafted. It was about four pages long in fine print and he didn’t expect them to read it all, but he did highlight the part that protected the Serpents from prosecution, particularly the three of them.

“Including Tall Boy?” Fangs asked, pointedly.

“While he’s a Serpent, yes.”

“These are from the Feds,” Sweet Pea muttered. “We don’t trust the Feds.”

“This Fed, we trust. Chic Murray is Betty’s brother.”

Again, with the staring.

“This just gets better and better,” Toni muttered discontentedly.

“Chic said that without this, you would’ve been protected anyway based on your basic Civil rights, but Betty wanted it written down.”

“They can get us for other things. They can pull up all sorts of things about us and use those things to throw us in jail.” Sweet Pea was scowling so deeply, the shadows on his face were darker.

Jughead shook his head, turning another page of the affidavit. “Betty made sure you were covered for that. She made sure of a lot of things. Chic had pulled files on all of us weeks ago. He knows things about us we don’t know about ourselves. Besides, the Feds don’t bother with petty crimes—we’re small potatoes. Unless you fucking robbed a bank. You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not!” Sweet Pea cried.

“Then your petty crimes won’t land you anywhere. Most of them are probably past the statute of limitations and the rest, you’ve paid for in juvie,” Jughead pointed out.

Sweet Pea read the affidavit more closely, noting, perhaps the list of crimes that they would be absolved for should they have to do it for the case. The phrase, “the following… but not limited to” was comforting, as it covered all possible unpredictable situations that may arise.

“Listen.” Jughead shifted on his feet, moving out of the way of the stairs. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. You can walk out now and just lie low. I won’t call on you. I won’t ask for your help. I can keep you out if this. Just let me know and I’ll do it that way. I’ll probably just fake the drug pushing with the Feds. They said it was possible. Not ideal, but possible, so you _do_ have a choice.”

“Fake it with the Feds?” Sweet Pea growled. “Malachi would notice if your most trusted doesn’t show up for you. You’re going to get killed!”

“I’m going to have to trust that Chic can keep that from happening.”

Fangs shook his head. “Uh, uh. The Feds have no idea. They can’t fake that shit like we can. I’m in, J. I’ll help you.”

Jughead felt a weight lifted. Fangs had always been loyal in that he almost _always_ jumped in first. If he was the only one, then that was more than enough.

“Christ, boss man,” Toni said, sighing. “Of course I’m there for you. This better fucking work.”

“Thanks, Toni. Thanks, Fangs,” he said with some measure of relief. “Sweet Pea? You don’t have to if—“

“Shut up. Of course I’ll help. You’re my leader and you’ve been there for me all these years.”

Jughead nodded, grateful. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to do this and we’re going to run Malachi out of business.”

“I should’ve known you’d go big,” Toni said, shaking her head. “Even after all these years, Jones, you never disappoint.”

 

**************

 

There was an old raceway track in northern New Jersey that had been sold to developers. The track was scheduled to be demolished in the spring. In the meantime, it fell into slow disrepair and probably had a few construction hazards here or there.

But tonight it was the site of Hans’s big event. It was the night the Ghoulie Godfather raced the Serpent Prince.

Members from both rival gangs lined the crowds, money and drugs were free flowing. Everyone was hyped for the race.

Hard to Get Betts rode with the prince, as he had done for her numerous times, but everyone knew who made his wonder of a car--it’s slick new paint, it’s powerful new engine, and even its plate, which said: WRYT0RDIE. Everyone knew who allowed this race to happen. If Jughead was a prince, Betty was the Queen.

She looked particularly stunning tonight, with her black leather top, flouncy miniskirt, and heels that made her legs look like they were a mile long.

Jughead certainly wore his Serpent jacket, but he had an additional accessory on him. A wire. It itched against the skin of his chest and every twitch of the tape was a reminder that he was in a situation that he would rather not be in.

The worst part about it was that this was only the beginning. After this race, whatever happened, he and the Serpents would be in supposed partnership with the Ghoulies, and he didn’t know how much of that he could keep up without inadvertently pulling some of the Serpents into this kind of life for real.

There were a lot of situations that he couldn’t possibly control, but first thing’s first. He needed to get this partnership with Malachi sealed.

“Ready for this race, boss man?” Toni asked as she, Fangs, and Sweet Pea stood around him and Betty. “Ready for all of it?”

Her words were pregnant with meaning.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, looking over his shoulder at Malachi with trepidation.

Malachi was too busy getting fawned over by his women to notice him looking.

“I don’t know whether or not you want to beat him--dunno if it matters,” Fangs said. “But it’ll be satisfying to see his smug ass lose to our boy. You can win this, J.”

Jughead felt the need to win, now that he knew he could use a win to his advantage. And since wanting to win would probably convince Malachi that he was all in on this, it would convince Malachi that he wanted this partnership.

He leaned back against the hood of his beautiful new car.  “Whatever happens,” Jughead said. “Your job right now is to keep the Serpents calm. I don’t want any brawls.”

Sweet Pea nodded. “I already gave them the pep talk. Anyone who causes trouble will answer to me and my brass knuckles.”

Jughead still marveled at the fact that Sweet Pea can run things with brute force.  “Toni, any word about Tall Boy?”

Toni nodded. “He’s heard about the race. He’s a bit sore about it, but he only heard about it yesterday, so he didn’t have a lot of time to plan. Still, my guys are watching him, Handsome, and Sick Jim right now.”

Betty looked up at him. “Chic has Feds on JB and Archie. They’ll be safe.”

Jughead was grateful for Betty’s constant vigilance when it came to FBI protocol. If not for her, he wouldn’t be asking for _anything_ from them. He’d have stopped at the part where they didn’t arrest him. He never would have felt that he was in the position to demand anything, but Betty made sure his rights were being protected, and she made sure his family and friends were protected. He gave her back a tender rub.  “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

He wanted to tell her that she was there for many things, but there were other greater concerns. “Toni, did you tell your guys what they need to do?”

“My guys are ready,” Toni said. “Just say the word and they’ll do what they have to do. They’ve got eyes on Young Gun, too, but they ain’t touching him unless you want them to.”

Jughead steeled himself. “Give the word. I want it done swift and clean, got it? Take Young Gun, too, but don’t put him away. I just need him baby sat.”

“Understood.” Toni pulled out her phone and pressed a number. Seconds later, she said, “Do it.” And that was that.

Betty’s eyes widened in surprise. “What—“

“We’re not killing them,” Jughead said, quickly. “We’re just… incapacitating them for a while. I’ll have my chat with Tall Boy and his crew later.”

Betty pursed her lips, nodding. Her eyes conveyed no disapproval, just the resolve he’d so often seen on her the last few days.

“Your Highness!” came that familiarly sinister voice behind him. “This event is _amazing! And_ you did a fantastic job with Hans, Betty. He was generous during our negotiations.”

Jughead scowled as he turned to face Malachi and his gang. He felt the presence of Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni closing in behind him. No doubt more Serpents had stepped up as well.

He pulled Betty closer to his side, his arm around her waist.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she replied, haughtily, throwing her arm around Jughead’s shoulders.

Malachi chuckled. “I got that. So, Jughead. You turned out full force. Except for Tall Boy. He isn’t here.”

“He's resting,” Jughead said, volunteering nothing else.

Malachi blew an amused huff. “I hope you didn’t kill him. He still owes me money.”

“He’s not dead, but he’ll be indisposed for a while. I’ll give you what he owes you.”

“Fine by me.” Malachi looked at Jughead’s car. “That’s a 1973 F-Bomb you have there, Jones. Where’d you get it?”

“Dad had it stashed in an old friend’s junkyard upstate,” Jughead replied with a straight face. “From back in the day when dad could afford fancy cars.”

“It’s impressively restored.”

“Betty and the crew are impressive,” Jughead said, seriously. “Is there a point to this questioning?”

Malachi put his hands up easily. “Just making conversation, Jones. It looks fucking fantastic. Maybe I should get Betty to tinker with _my_ automobiles…”

Jughead scowled fiercely, rising from the hood of his car and forgetting, perhaps, that he had a job to do here. It wasn’t helping that Sweet Pea and Fangs were right there, advancing with him.

“Boys,” Betty’s firm voice cut through the thickening haze, her hand warm against his chest. She was pressing softly against his wire and he was instantly reminded.

Her eyes said everything and it prompted him to take a deep breath, calm his temper, and say, “I’ll see you on the racetrack, Malachi. You better leave before I do something we both regret.”

Malachi laughed and started to walk backwards, before turning to leave with his gang members. “I’ll talk to you later, Prince. Business is gonna be good!”

Jughead watched Malachi walk the distance to his car so intensely that he probably could’ve lasered a hole in the back of Malachi’s head if he stared any harder.

“Remember what you’re here for,” Betty told him, softly.

He nodded, taking a deep, cleansing breath.  

“You gonna beat this guy, J?” Sweet Pea asked.  

“Fuck, yeah.”

 

*****************

 

Jughead kept his promises. If there was nothing else about him that held true, _that_ did. He said he would beat Malachi and that’s what he set out to do. He had never driven in a race. He had very little concept about it except how to go from point A to point B in the fastest time possible so that he could beat the other guy who was racing towards the finish line.

The stretch of road was a long one and if he didn’t have Betty telling him what to do, he would’ve floored it immediately and probably run out of speed halfway through.  But he knew how to drive a car, so Betty’s coaching came to him easily. She was an instructor. If he had used his street smarts to navigate her, she was using rock solid fundamentals honed by experience.

He and Malachi were neck and neck until the end, but as they crossed the finish line, the F-Bomb’s front grills crossed the line a mere foot ahead.

It was a classic finish and as they walked out of their cars to meet at the middle, Jughead could feel the eyes of the crowd on them, waiting for what everyone hoped was a tense confrontation. Instead, what they got were two guys shaking hands and patting each other’s backs.

“Any chance we can renegotiate this track deal?” Malachi said in his ear, the grin never leaving his lips.

Jughead had to marvel at the FBI’s profiling of Malachi. They were right about the man liking a good gamble, and right now it was helping him carry things on more smoothly.

“Make me an offer I can’t refuse,” Jughead replied right back.

And just like that, the race was concluded and no untoward incidents took place.

The celebrations were underway, and a few other races followed. Evidently, Hans felt like he had more time on this strip than usual.

Twenty minutes after the race, Malachi asked Jughead if they’d like to meet in the abandoned food court and Jughead agreed.

“Just us guys,” Malachi said, his eyes slipping briefly to Betty who was talking to Toni off to the side.

This was it. They had expected it of Malachi. That he would want to talk to Jughead alone, so they were prepared.

“You gotta go home with Toni,” Jughead told her, his tone apologetic, with just a hint of relief.

Betty sighed, her expression one of annoyance, softened by resignation. “You need to be careful, Jughead.”

He nodded. “Sweet Pea, Fangs, and a couple of other guys will stay with me, and most of the other Serpents are going to stick around in the background. I’ll be safe. Now I need _you_ to be safe. Also, Chic will kill me if anything happens to you. Right, Chic?”

He knew her brother was listening to all of this.

She laughed, softly. “I’ll see you soon.” She pushed up on her tiptoes, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. It was an all-consuming locking of mouths, like all their other kisses in the last week, as if they expected to be apart for longer than necessary. Jughead almost didn’t want to _think_ about why their sex and their kisses had gotten so intense.  

When they separated, it took all of his willpower not to look back. Malachi was watching, and even if Malachi already knew Betty was his weakness on some level, he didn’t need to show the Ghoulie just how worried he got about her.  

“Ready to talk, junior?” Malachi asked when he was within earshot.

Jughead smirked. “Are _you?”_

 

**********

 

Betty invited Toni to stick around at her apartment. Kevin was home, but asleep, and at the rate Betty’s nerves were going, she wasn’t going to get any sleep, anyway.  So Toni stayed for a bit, helping Betty eat a tub of ice cream straight from its container.

Betty suspected that Toni didn’t feel like she could sit still, either, not until they heard back from any of the guys.

They were both thinking it. What was the holdup? It shouldn’t be taking this long.  

“Chic would tell you if there was something wrong, right?” Toni said in low voice as she leaned over the vanilla toffee crumble ice cream. Kevin was asleep, but they could still be overheard.

Betty took a large scoop on her spoon. Maybe Jughead wasn’t the only one who stress ate. “It would have to be horrible for Chic to tell me anything, so no news is good news with him.”

Toni took another scoop of ice cream. “You did good, boss lady. You did what you can. You watched out for him with the FBI, you protected him, his family, and his friends…”

“It’s all I can do.”

Toni shook her head and pressed her hand over Betty’s. “You’ve been a goddamn queen. And what you did with that car was freaking unbelievable, too.  Jughead is lucky to have you.”

Betty felt her cheeks warm, appreciating Toni’s words. “I’m lucky I have him, too.”

“You know, I told Jughead to leave all this trouble to us--at the beginning, before he got in deep with this Tall Boy business and Malachi. I said he should just go back to his life as a Columbia student, to you, to just being a regular college guy. He could’ve, but he didn’t. He chose to help us out. It’s the reason guys like Sweet Pea and Fangs are so loyal to him. They’re sure that he’ll watch out for them.”

Betty nodded. “I know, Toni.”

“He won’t back out now. I know him. He’ll see this through, but after… you should tell him to leave the Serpents behind, Betty.”

She understood that Toni was coming from a place of love, but this wasn’t how Jughead did things. “You know I can’t do that. You, Sweet Pea, and Fangs, at least, mean more to him than just a gang. He sees you as the ones who were there for him during a very difficult time of his life. You made him laugh and you made him feel wanted at a time when his own parents weren’t there for him. You helped him provide for Jellybean. He probably thinks he owes you for all that and if I tell him to drop you after this, I will break his heart, Toni.”

“You two,” Toni muttered. “You were made for each other, you know that?”

Betty couldn’t help but give her a small smile.

Her phone buzzed and she saw that it was Jughead. Hurriedly, she picked it up. “Juggie! Are you okay? Did it work?”

Toni was looking at her expectantly, her gaze questioning.

“Yeah,” Jughead said, tiredly. “It worked. The Serpents are in. I just handed Malachi $150,000 in a duffel bag and Fangs is driving a truck with 500 pounds of JJ in it.”

Betty nodded at Toni, giving her the thumbs up. Toni gave a sigh of relief, stuffing another glob of ice cream in her mouth.

“What kept you? Toni and I were worried.”

“Malachi had a bunch of plans for us and he wanted to let us know right off the bat what he expected of us. The FBI’s right. He wants to hand over the management of the JJ to the Serpents while he ups his cocaine and heroin game. I managed to convince him that I needed to know where he was making this stuff. It’s happening, Betty.”

Betty swallowed the overwhelming fear, placing a hand on Toni’s arm, probably for support. Toni covered it with her own. “The sooner this is over with, the better, Jug.”

“Yeah,” he said, more quietly. “I have to go meet your brother…”

“Tonight? Jesus, Jug, that’s too dangerous! So soon after meeting with Malachi? Are you sure you’re not being followed?”

“Chic’s got it all worked out, I think. He gave us a place to store the JJ. He’s meeting me there.”

“Be careful, okay? You have to be on your toes at all times.”

“I will be. I gotta go. I love you.”

“Love you.”

The call ended and Betty and Toni exchanged looks filled with complicated emotions: fear, relief, hope, all while their hands and arms were clasped.

“It’ll be a while yet before he gets home, but I think they’re good for now,” Betty said, looking at the clock. “It’s pretty late, Toni. Stay the night and just leave in the light of day. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe, here.”

Toni cocked a grin. “You’re the sweetest, hun. I’ll take you up on the offer.”

Betty gave Toni a shirt to sleep in, and considering Toni was tiny, she was practically swimming in Betty’s sleep shirt.

Betty got ready for bed herself, and as she stepped out of the bathroom, she was just about to offer Toni to share the bed with her when she found Toni fast asleep on the couch.

Betty draped a blanket over her, tucking the edges in to keep her warm, then she went into her room, falling into a restless sleep.

 

****************

 

When Jughead called her, it was almost 3 in the morning. She woke up at the first ring and answered it on the second. She was immediately alert.

Betty let him into her apartment 3 minutes later, and he only paused briefly at the sight of Toni dozing on the couch.

She pressed her finger to her lips as she pulled Jughead into her room by their hands.

When she closed the door behind them, she didn’t bother with questions. Reverently, she slipped his jacket off his shoulders and started to peel off his soft, black shirt. He helped her, pulling the shirt off himself completely and then loosening the laces on his boots so he can slip out of them. He made quick work of it, toeing off his socks and slipping his arms around her for a deep, hard kiss. His hands pushed up her sleep shirt, its thin material easily coming off her. She didn’t sleep with a bra, but she did wear panties. They were cute and soft and Jughead immediately snaked his hands beneath them to palm her ass.

Pulling her flush against him, he pressed his mouth to her neck, nipping, sucking, and laving her skin with his tongue. She arched her neck, breathing to control the moan that was escaping her lips.

He walked them backwards, settling on the edge of her bed and moving back, he gently coaxing her to straddle him, taking a nipple into his mouth. She gave a soft whimper, rolling her hips firmly onto his lap. He hissed, groaning at the pleasant pressure.

He leaned back as she deftly undid the buckles of his belt. She popped the buttons of his jeans before pushing them off his hips, right along with his boxers.

She wasted no time gripping his hardened cock in her hand, pumping gently to make him want her even more.

“Oh, God, Betts. Take these off,” he begged, hooking his thumb into the sides of her panties and tugging. She managed the maneuver hovering over his body on the bed.

She had hardly settled against him when his fingers slid over her folds. An involuntary, sensual sound rose from her throat as he felt his long fingers gliding over her pussy. She tilted his face up by his chin and clamped her mouth over his, her tongue twisting hungrily against his. Their quiet moans mingled in each other’s mouths as his fingers slid in and out of her, gaining speed and thrust as their kissing grew even more torrid.

When she felt Jughead’s thumb circle and press her clit, she gasped, an orgasm crashing into her body.

“Fuck, yeah,” she cried, as softly as she could as she threw her head back and rode his hand to completion. As her orgasm slowly dwindled, Jughead made sure she saw him licking his fingers.

She kissed him, wanting to taste herself on his tongue. Their tongues were still swirling together when she thrust her hips to take her into him.

He gasped, throwing his head back on her bed and instantly thrusting back as he dug his fingers into her hips. “Holy. Fuck. Betty, don’t stop.”

She didn’t, rocking her hips to meet his. He reached up, threading his fingers through her hair so he could pull her down while he pushed himself up, crashing their mouths together as she rode him.

She can feel the heat of her body pooling between her legs, the build up of another orgasm gathering at her core. “I’m coming, baby,” she mewled. “Hard.”

“I’m gonna come with you,” he whispered against her lips, thrusting his hips hard against hers.

The pressure of his body felt delicious against her clit and it sent her spiraling to her climax, grinding hard against Jughead as he bucked his hips in return, followed by a deep, guttural groan.

At the end of it, they collapsed against the bed, her body draped over his as they caught their breaths.

Betty closed her eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. “Juggie.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, running his fingers lightly down her spine. “I love you _so much.”_

She looked up at him. Somehow his words struck her to her core, wishing he weren’t saying it as if this was going to be their last time. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to point it out. They’d been this way all week, making desperate love at every opportunity. Fast, intense, and passionate.

They were afraid and they knew it, but they weren’t going to speak of it because then their fears might become real.

“Stay the rest of the night,” she pleaded, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Stay all day tomorrow.”

His eyes closed, and for a few minutes, he let her pepper him with kisses, but then he sighed into their kiss, and when her lips parted from his, he said, “I have something I have to do tomorrow, first thing, but I’ll come back, okay?”

She searched his eyes for answers. “Are you going to deal with Tall Boy?”

Wordlessly, he nodded. He threaded his fingers through her hair, gently, probably hoping to calm her fears with it.

“Can I ask you what you’re going to do with him?”

“I’m going to give him a couple of choices,” Jughead replied. “And we’ll see what he decides. He can stay and take orders from me, all while being closely watched, or we can send him away--far away.”

“Won’t he do to you what you threatened to do with him? Expose his drug dealing with the Ghoulies?”

Jughead nodded. “Yes, but the difference between him and me is that I have the support of a large contingent of the Serpents. Also, I’m FP’s son. The elders couldn’t touch me even if they wanted to, because it’s between me and Tall Boy, and they don’t like Tall Boy. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m pretty much the definition of scum with the Serpents right now, but I’m hoping that after all this comes to light, I can walk all of this back.”

She rubbed the apple of his cheek with her thumb. “You will be able to. I believe in you.”

He looked into her eyes, then he pulled her closer so he can kiss her, the lazy rolling of their tongues calming to her senses.

He pulled away briefly. “Betty…”

“What?” she whispered against his lips.

“I was…”

She pulled away to look at him. “Yes?”

There was a pause, like he was thinking about something, but then he shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all, baby.”  

He turned them over on her bed and he started kissing her neck and throat. His hand massaged her breasts and his knee parting her thighs. She gasped, that instant ache between her legs overwhelming.

His lips went lower, and lower down her body, until his tongue was licking her center, her fingers digging into the beautiful curls of his dark hair.  

 

************

 

For two weeks, the Serpents sold JJ on the streets. Most of the supply was spirited away by the FBI, and they supplied money to Jughead to give to Malachi for profits.

Business was flourishing and Jughead employed the efficiency and talent of his Ivy League smarts.  Malachi was ecstatic.

Jughead was exhausted. Between managing the output of the drugs with his Serpents, fighting off the grumblings of the elder Serpents, and reporting to Chic in secret meeting places, he was wishing, almost every night, that this would be over.  

And working with Malachi, he’d already seen a man being executed for stealing (a bullet right to the head--Jughead couldn’t get the picture of the man’s brains splattered on the floor out of his mind). Malachi’s guys had done it so offhandedly that Jughead was sure that they did such a thing on a regular basis.

So it wasn’t a surprise when halfway through the third week of their partnership, Malachi said he was going to show Jughead one of his manufacturing plants.

This was the type of evidence the FBI were looking for.

When he reported this to Chic, he told Jughead this was it, that this was what they were waiting for, for months.  The FBI listed off all the things they needed Malachi to say, and Jughead had to coax the words out of him to file into evidence.

The moment Jughead did his job, the FBI could come in with guns blazing and it would be over. Hopefully.

All Jughead could think of was that they were closer to the end, but his positive thoughts were short lived, as Chic looked him in the eyes and said, “Are we still on the same page about Betty?”

Jughead took a deep breath, lips pursing. “We are. I’ll get to it, Chic. I know you don’t care if Betty dumps me, but my aim is that she doesn’t do that.”

Chic sighed, rolling his eyes. “Forsythe, that’s not the way I want things to turn out. Look, I’d do it if I could, but she would never listen to me. You’ve seen how she is with me. If I tell her what to do, she will just dig her heels in--”

“I know that,” Jughead said, testitly. “And I understand that the danger is real. But don’t rush me.”

Chic put his hands up. “What time we have is not up to me.”

Jughead shot him a dirty look but didn’t say anything to contradict him. He had a job to do and he would do it, and if he knew how to keep Betty safe, even if risked their relationship, then that’s what he had to do.

Soon, this would all be over and he prayed that the risks didn’t destroy him.

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters to go. :D


	19. You Gotta Bleed to Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit gets very, very, very 
> 
> real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning:  
> 1\. This is a mammoth of a chapter. 12K. Brace yourselves. I thought about splitting it into two, but doing that would be too cruel and I cannot inflict that on my readers.
> 
> 2\. Writing this chapter, I kept expecting Oliver Queen to show up. You _Arrow_ fans will know what I'm talking about.
> 
> 3\. Please do not stop reading halfway through. I swear, I love you and I will not hurt you.

 

 

I'm bleeding out  
So if the last thing that I do  
Is bring you down  
I'll bleed out for you  
So I bare my skin  
And I count my sins  
And I close my eyes  
And I take it in  
I'm bleeding out  
I'm bleeding out for you, for you.

—Bleeding Out, by Imagine Dragons

 

 

Betty was waking up screaming.

A little more than a week since Malachi promised to bring Jughead to his manufacturing plants, he’d been brought to two, but on the night of the first excursion, Malachi revealed that a big shipment would be coming from the docks at Thanksgiving eve, and _those_ suppliers would be arriving to meet the cargo.

Malachi had called these suppliers the _bratva,_ and Jughead could _still_ hear the panic in Chic’s tone when Jughead mentioned it.  

“Did you just call them the _bratva?”_ he had demanded. He took a few minutes to compose himself. With the even tone that Jughead’s come to know him for, he said, “It seems Malachi has partnered with the Russian mafia. This complicates things.”

Representatives of the _bratva_ would be on the docks to facilitate the transaction, and Malachi was eager to introduce Jughead so that Jughead would be receiving all future shipments from that point on.

The FBI was thrown into a massive rush to change plans. What was supposed to be a straightforward raid was now, quite possibly, going to be an extended sting operation to pursue the Russian mafia lead.

Chic did not seem pleased at all.   _His_ operation was for Malachi’s budding tri-state cartel. The introduction of the _Russkaya mafiya_ into the mix had the Russian Mafia Task Force throwing their weight in his direction.

Jughead had other troubles in his mind.  

Betty was terrified enough of everything _without_ knowing that the Russian mafia were involved. She was having nightmares without _that_ detail. He could not imagine telling her that now, he might have to get in bed with the Russian mob.

 _That_ would be on top of her staying up waiting for him, obsessively keeping up with school, her job, her workouts, and all the other sting-operation things in between.  He had found himself keeping up just as frantically as she was, except now he wasn’t telling her half the things he’d seen, which was a lot of violence, suffering, and a couple of dead bodies.

He was hardly getting any sleep either, and his dreams were _not_ made of sunshine and roses, but he was afraid the toll was heavier on Betty.  He was afraid that she was withering.

He had been turning away from those fears as vigorously as he could, but he was losing momentum on that front. He was worried. He was beside himself. He would wake up at night just to watch Betty breathing. He didn’t know why, but maybe it was some underlying, primal need to know if she still was.

He wanted to have long talks with Betty, to help her and him deal with these fears together, but he could barely sit and have dinner with her, and in bed, they were either bone tired or their physical need for reassurance far outweighed anything else.

He had told Chic nothing about Betty’s nightmares and anxieties _,_ but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe Chic had seen Betty spiraling, and he knew by the dark circles under Betty’s eyes.  

Chic had been nagging him for _weeks_ about sending Betty to his adoptive family, the Murrays. He had repeatedly told Jughead that this entire operation could set Betty back. The only thing that prevented Jughead from succumbing to Chic’s demands was the sheer terror of losing her.  

Betty had told him, point blank, that if he _ever_ saw her as fragile--if he ever let her mental health define her, that they couldn’t be together. He couldn’t handle that loss. Especially not now.

 _“Tell her yourself,”_ was how Jughead had staved off Chic.

But with the _bratva_ in play, things had taken a turn.

Chic now had a different tact.

“Forsythe, I’m sure you understand how much more dangerous things are going to get. Malachi let your family exist when he was just letting you run his drugs, but now he’s bringing you into the fold--introducing you to the Russian mob. If he doesn’t take extreme measures to ensure your loyalty, the _bratva_ will. I can’t even tell you how much more dangerous the Russian mob is. The Ghoulies got nothing on how violent the Russian mob can be. Now you _promised me_ that if the danger hits critical mass, you would help me get Betty out of New York. And I’m telling you, it isn’t just Betty you need to worry about, anymore. You need to think about Archie, Jellybean--hell, even Kevin. If this is going down on Thanksgiving eve, they have to be out of here by Wednesday.”

So now there he was, Thanksgiving eve, on a stool in Betty’s kitchen, contemplating the bomb he was about to deliver to one of the most important persons in his life.  

By all accounts, this was the reasonable thing to do. He had already sent off Archie and Jellybean to Fred Andrews, who would then in turn drive to upstate New York for a week to spend Thanksgiving at Archie’s grandparents.  They would be reasonably safe.  

FP was under constant FBI watch in prison, but because he was in minimum security, the population at the prison was much smaller and the influx of new prisoners was easy to control. Ironically, his imprisonment was one of the reasons Malachi said the _bratva_ liked him as their new JJ distributor. Of course, that could be completely false, but Jughead wasn’t going to dwell on it.

For the handoff, Sweet Pea would be the only one accompanying him, and _his_ grandmother would be spirited off to be with some old family friends in Brooklyn.  Toni and Fangs would be gone as well. Thanksgiving eve was an auspicious holiday for travel. Everyone was leaving, which made it easier to get everyone out of town without suspicion.

Jughead was watching Betty heat up some chicken wings she’d made that afternoon, her smile one of mixed relief and underlied by a steady state of worry.

She was happy he was there _now,_ alive and unhurt, but she was constantly aware that this wasn’t over until it was over.  

“Betty,” he began, quietly. “Did you know that it was Thanksgiving eve?”

She chuckled, shaking the skillet on the stovetop. “All too well. Kevin’s been gone since this morning to travel and my classes were filled with people rushing off to wherever, that’s _including_ the professors.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be rushing off somewhere, too?”

She smiled slightly. “The Murrays, Chic’s adoptive family. We’ve been going there since Chic took us in. It was--” She paused, thinking, and for a blessed moment, Jughead saw the tension from Betty’s face and shoulders ease.  “It was kind of amazing. That first time we had Thanksgiving with them, I honestly believed something was wrong with the Murrays, but a couple of hours in and I realized that it was Alice’s Thanksgivings that were fucked up, and that the Murrays were pretty damn ordinary.”

He was always hesitant to ask her about life with Alice. He didn’t want to trigger her unnecessarily, especially knowing that she constantly had to battle Alice in her head, but when she brought it up, he made it a point to let her know he was listening. No matter how painful it was for him to hear it.  

“What was Thanksgiving like with Alice versus the Murrays?” he asked, carefully.

Betty put the chicken wings in a bowl and set it on the kitchen counter in front of him. “Oh, boy.  Under the tyranny of Alice… Thanksgiving was four days of frantically catching up on school and extracurriculars, and by catching up, I mean getting ahead of everyone else in class. I was manic, of course. I needed to squeeze something out of every minute of every day, building defenses with the materials Alice gave me, so that Alice would be pleased and either leave me alone or give me some scrap as a reward. My favorite reward was always food related--a second helping of something from the table or better yet, a full tablespoon of dessert.  A lot of times, I’d take advantage of the chaos and sneak a few spoonfuls of food. I could steal another helping of mashed potatoes because Alice was too busy attending to guests in the living room, or I’d swipe a sliver of pecan pie--a slice so thin that Alice would barely notice a piece had been shaved off.”

These were the stories that made him hurt for her, and it was these tales that made him realize why her siblings were so damn protective of her. “You must’ve been starving, Betts.”

 

“Maybe,” she replied.  “Alice got so mad about high calorie foods that I think I may have gone to bed hungry more times than not. I couldn’t even eat more food in school because I knew Alice would notice if I put more on my tab.  So Thanksgiving was either my pain or deliverance. High stress and too quickly over. But that was then. The Murrays were--are different.”

 

“Better, I hope.”

 

She nodded, grinning. “Much better. Apparently, I was allowed to eat as much as I wanted and offers for a second helping were genuine, not a test. I think that first Thanksgiving at the Murrays, I ate myself sick--I had pie, chocolate peanut butter cups, lots and lots of Turkey with gravy and cranberry sauce, spoonfuls of mashed potatoes--I was shoving that stuff in my mouth all the while thinking I was getting away with _something,_ and then it hit me that nobody _cared_ how much I was eating. It was an inexplicable feeling, really. I never truly enjoyed Thanksgiving until then.”

He reached for her hand so he could pull her closer, caging her between his thighs. “And yet you’re still here, not heading to that Thanksgiving feast.  You should be on the road, travelling.”

She wrapped her arms around him, her dark-rimmed eyes meeting his. They both looked a bit gaunt from their lack of sleep, and probably the only thing that kept them sane was their constant need for connection.

“You’re here,” she said, softly, planting a kiss on his lips with that same, hungry quality that tinged every touch they shared, lately.

He accepted her kiss eagerly, wondering if he could make love to her first _before_ sending her away. He could make her come, right here on the kitchen counter. He needed only to sit her on it and bury his face between her thighs. He was hard already.

But when she sighed into his mouth, grinding her hips against his erection and squirming to take off her shirt, his internal monologue got unbelievably louder.

“Wait,” he gasped, placing his hands over her shoulders. “Wait, baby. I have to tell you something.”

Her lips had attached to his jaw and she giggled softly. “Right now? Really?”

He would give anything to go on, but as the word _bratva_ floated across his mind, that hardon waned so quickly that even Betty noticed it.

She looked at him in surprise. “Well, _that’s_ never happened.”

He sighed in turn, sliding his hands up her shoulders. “I need you to go to the Murrays.”

She frowned, pulling the hem of her shirt back down. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Sweetpea will be around to keep me company, and Chic is working with me. His team is--”

“I don’t mean that,” she interrupted, firmly. “I mean _here,_ when you’re _not_ undercover for the FBI.”

Jughead steeled himself against her facial expression, that stubborn set in her eyes that constantly told him that she was here for _him,_ that nothing else seemed to matter. He wanted to cling to that, but he knew he was already endangering her in many, many ways.

“Betty.” He took her face in his hands, cupping them with the soft brush of his thumb. “Please, you need to drive up Boston and you need to leave as soon as possible.”

She blinked, her resolve giving way to confusion, and then a moment of sheer clarity. “Did Chic put you up to this?”

His lips pursed. He had promised never to lie to her, and while he’d skirted some of that promise by telling her _no_ lies, she’d tried to make it work, too, by _not asking_. This time, she was asking and his silence spoke volumes.

“He did,” she concluded for him, pulling away. He felt her loss immediately. “Why now? It’s been weeks! I’m pretty sure Chic’s been nagging you about sending me away from the very beginning.”

His heart was hammering in his rib cage. He could feel her outrage building and he was panicking internally. He wavered between one truth and another, gauging whether he should go with the truth that would make her furious or the one that would frighten her. His options were _not_ ideal.

“Something’s changed,” he said, carefully. Deliberately. “It’s gotten—it’s way more dangerous now than it was before. It’s bad, Betts. You have to trust me on this one.”

Her face began to crease with deep worry. “But—but what does that mean for _you?_ Jughead, you can’t possibly expect me to leave _now_ after that, do you?”

“I can look out for myself better if I don’t have to be afraid that they could hurt you, Betts. If I know you’re safe, I can focus on surviving. I’ve already sent Jellybean and Archie away. Toni and Fangs are gone, as well. You need to go. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

For several seconds that felt like forever, Betty only stared at him in total confusion, and then her gaze became steely. _“What changed,_ Jughead? You tell me exactly what. No lies, remember? You tell me and I will decide what to do with myself, then.”

His mind was thrown in a chaotic back and forth:

_Her nightmares have her screaming in her sleep. It’s probably drowned out the voice of Alice in her head. Don’t tell her._

_But it’s the bratva... she deserves to know that she may never see you alive again._

_Why would you put her through that? Why would you even risk making her nightmares worse?_

_She would never leave New York if you tell her about the Russian mob. Her safety is what matters now. Her life is what matters most._

“You’re waking up screaming Betts…” he began, weakly. Quietly, resigned at the fact that this was the only way to get her to leave without frightening the hell out of her. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. Your hands…”

She put them away and the shame in her eyes almost broke him. “Don’t you dare.”

He blinked and he realized his own eyes were stinging hot from unshed tears. He was worried for her. _So worried._ And he dug deep, dredging up his fears, and knowing that he would never say these things if he had another way of convincing her to go.

Maybe he always wanted to send her off, to take her away from all this, thinking that the distance would help ease her mind, calm her anxieties, and just steer her away from the dangers of sliding back. Maybe he had been wishing he could tell her that.

But under any other circumstance, he would never send her away. Not like this. But now he had to do just that.   

He’d promised her that he would never look at her and think that she might break. He’d watched her hold on, brave in spite of the fissures, but he knew all this was affecting her somehow. He couldn’t pretend she wasn’t being chipped apart, because _he_ was crumbling, and _he_ was breaking. Only, the difference between him and her were the _stains_.

He’d seen the bloodied tissues in the trash. Seen the antiseptic cream dwindle to a flat tube, all he wanted to do was end this sting operation, and _then_ they can sit and talk through all the nightmares, the voices, and the crippling worry, but he hadn’t found the time, _because_ he was working frantically to get to the end of this dark tunnel.

Sending her away had never been an option for him to deal with her mental health, but _now._

He needed her to be safe.  

As he stood there, saying the things he promised he would never say to her, she started to cry. He didn’t want to hurt her this way, but it was either this or add to her nightmares while risking her life worse than ever. He made a motion to go to her, but she was already pulling away. “Jug, you promised.”

“I know, baby.” He broke down then, feeling hot tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you--”

“I know I don’t look like much,” she said, her tone taking on an anger he’d never heard from her before. “I know I look broken, but I’m not. I’m _strong_ , and I know this, because if there’s anything that’s holding me up, it’s the very fact that I have to be— _for you._ You aren’t sleeping, either, and when you come home, your eyes look haunted, like you can’t believe what you’ve seen.”

She knew him so well. He hadn’t had to say a single thing and she _knew._ His heart ached. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but her safety was all that mattered now.

“Betts, please,” he said, holding her gently by her shoulders. “You have to go to the Murrays. I’m begging you. I love you so much--”

 _“Don’t,”_ she whispered, wrenching her shoulders away so abruptly that her elbow knocked a glass off the kitchen counter.

It shattered on the floor and Jughead could have sworn that it was the moment their hearts broke to pieces.

 

******************

 

Betty’s car was parked outside their apartment building by the time she was done packing her things. Sweet Pea had brought her car over from Queens and for the first time ever, Jughead looked at that car and felt his stomach tighten.

“Betty,” he had told her, softly, as he watched her fold her things into a suitcase.  “I love you. You know that, right?”

Tears leaked from her eyes. “Juggie, I know… I know that, but you are sending me away because you think I’m unfixable.”

Her words hollowed out his chest. That was completely untrue, but he had a goal, which was to keep her safe, and he just had to wait awhile before he could explain things to her. “That’s not what I think, Betts,” he said, desperately. “This is for the best, for now. You have to believe me. This is a situation that neither of us have to go through again. Once this is over, we can go back to our lives, right? We can be happy and together, and--”

“Jug, please,” she whispered, pressing her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I can’t talk about that with you now. I just--I need time.”

_Oh, God._

She’s leaving him, and even if he told himself that this was what he needed to happen for now, that he could later walk all this back, losing her felt inexplicably scarier than the _bratva._

He watched her finish packing and when she was done, he carried her things for her as they descended the stairs. He loaded her bag in her car and stood by the passenger door, hoping she would look at him one time before she left.

She did, and he pulled her into his arms, relishing the fact that she reciprocated the embrace, tightly, even. At least she didn’t hate him. Not yet.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, fiercely, and she returned the kiss with the same desperation.  Almost as if she wished it would erase the last hour of their lives, hoping they can go one as if he hadn’t said the words he said.

But as she pulled away, her gaze was searching, her brows knotting with worry. “I want you to be safe, Jughead. If my leaving gives you a better chance at surviving, then I could be glad about that, at least.”

Every piece of him yearned to pick her up and carry her back into her apartment building, repeatedly apologizing and imploring for her forgiveness as he kissed her over and over. He would be on his knees, telling her that he hadn’t wanted to say the words he did, about how grateful and in awe he was at how she’d carried this burden with him, but then she might stay, or he might have to tell her that he might not make it through the weekend.  

“We’ll talk when I get back on Monday,” she finished, whispering.

_Monday._

That was an awful long time.  Monday was practically a week.

“Can I text you, at least?” he asked.

She didn’t immediately reply. “I don’t know, Jug. I’ll have to--I’ll have to think about that.”

He pursed his lip, fighting back tears.  He opened her door for her and she settled herself in the driver’s seat. As he stepped away, the roar of her engine filled the street and moments later, she pulled out of her parking spot and sped away.

Jughead watched her car go and he had to take deep, cleansing breaths of the city air to soothe his battered emotions.

Sweet Pea, who had been standing off to the side quietly, spoke. “We gotta head out, J. We don’t have a lot of time left.”

Jughead let Sweet Pea’s words wash over him, using it to lock his emotional turmoil away in a mental box and set it aside for now.

He nodded resolutely. This was it. This was the night that could either put an end to it all or the night his life would be forever changed for the worse.

 

************

 

Betty’s heart hurt.

She had spent the last two hours driving in tears that would come and go, remembering the look on Jughead’s face as he basically told her that she was breaking and that his way of fixing her was to send her away.

And even through all that emotional hurricane, she could tell he was hiding _something._ Why he wouldn’t tell her, she didn’t know.  The only thing that was clear was that he needed her to go away.

For her safety, he had said, but why was today any different than the last few weeks?

Since the race with Malachi, both Jughead, the FBI, and the Serpents had given her next to nothing.  And being the reasonable and intelligent woman she was, she understood why. She didn’t ask. She didn’t insist. She had done her part in this operation and now all she could do was tell Chic to take care of Jughead.

She’d had to run a few more races in the last few weeks, which was suddenly weirdly ordinary given the things that were going on in the background. She’d lost two races out of four, and in the grand scheme of things, she didn’t care.  

She was racing to keep up appearances now. It still gave her what she needed--the forgetfulness and the adrenaline, but the thought of Jughead and the Serpents selling JJ in the circuits was powerfully distracting. She could barely concentrate, and when before she could quiet her mind as she drove, it was now filled with a million nagging thoughts.

Now she was driving to the Murrays, alone, her heart in shambles.

She loved Jughead so much. She had clung to him as she told him goodbye, kissed him with all the longing that she always felt whenever they had to be separated, and she wanted desperately to forgive him.  After all, he had told her all that because he loved her. He had expressed his concerns for her well being because he wanted to protect her.

And yet she couldn’t get past the thought that he was seeing her falling apart and thinking, “I can’t fix this.”  After everything they’d gone through, it felt like he’d given up on her that night.

She was crying again, and she was so emotionally wrought that she almost missed an exit. She turned quickly, rolling into a ramp.  Her GPS had been leading her in seeming circles, avoiding the Thanksgiving traffic that permeated the roads.  She was managing well enough on the highway for a while, but now she was going into some back roads, which she didn’t mind, so long as she didn’t have to stop in traffic for very long.

Several other cars followed behind her, their headlights gleaming in her mirrors. It was dark now and she had another few hours still before she was even halfway through her drive.

She drove through less busier streets, her surroundings growing quieter as she went.  

She had an urge to pull over on the side of the road, pick up her phone, and call Jughead. She wanted to unleash a storm of words. To ask him why, and then to beg him to tell her the truth, just so she could understand why she was driving away from him, in tears, and contemplating a broken future.

The car behind her pulled up close and she momentarily felt irritated by the tailgating.

She move slightly to the side. She was going to let the car pass her if it was in such a hurry to get ahead. She was going fast enough, but if he wanted to go faster, he was welcome to it.

The car was a dark blue Mustang, and it drove up to pass her, but instead of driving by, it lined up with her car and its passenger window rolled down.

Surprised, she glanced briefly to her side, staying aware of the road ahead of her.

The face she saw came to her as a shock. It was a Ghoulie, Malachi’s navigator--the man who threw a Molotov cocktail at her that fateful night she raced Malachi.

“Pull over,” he yelled.

That voice, however muted it was through her window, sent dread through her spine.

 _Fuck that._ She stepped on the gas and pulled ahead to get away, willing her mind to go quiet. This was not the time to panic. She was in a fast car, a car she built herself. She was in her element, so as dangerous as this situation was, she had the tools to control the outcome.

Betty got ahead significantly, passing the large houses and sidewalk trees lining the quiet streets. The Mustang followed hot behind her, the roar of its engine sending terror rushing through her veins.

She wasn’t quite sure how this was going to play out. She certainly could not spend the next hour just running away. She would run out of gas at some point. She needed to shake them off.

She turned a corner sharply and the Mustang overcompensated, almost slamming into a pole.

She smirked. She could do this.  

She sped up, and found another corner to turn. Behind her, the Mustang followed, and it clipped a parked car, this time.

This driver was not as skilled as she was.

She sped down a dark stretch, eyeing her GPS methodically. She had gained ground and quickly, she pressed the icons on her GPS, finding her own way through the unfamiliar streets. The lay of the land became clear to her. She knew what she had to do.

The Mustang came up close behind her, having gained ground as she planned.  She sped up, the dark streets making visibility difficult, but she knew where she was going.

Just as she predicted, the Mustang followed furiously, blindly.

As she got to the end of the road, she cut it so close that the tail of her Camaro clipped the wooden railing. She imagined that chips flew as she did. She heard the angry scrape of wood on metal within her car, but she didn’t care.

But even expecting the outcome, what she saw in the next few seconds made her gasp.

The Mustang, unable to cut the turn, slammed full bodied right into the railing, crashing through and sending the car right over the edge of the dirt incline. It turned over its side violently, propelled by its own speed and momentum. It flipped again, until finally splashing into the lake upside down. She didn’t know how deep the lake went, and she wasn’t sure if it was natural or man-made. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was a reservoir of sorts, but the car dipped in and started sinking almost immediately.

She reeled in horror at the thought that its occupants were drowning, and she was so riveted by the maws of her guilt that she hadn’t noticed a second vehicle. It was a Escalade, and it was pure brawn.

The truck slammed right into her tail, spinning her Camaro through the railing and into the dirt. She felt jolted, knowing that her neck would feel that the next morning. She was facing away from the lake, so she saw the headlights backing up. Frantically, she stepped on the gas, hoping to get away from the second collision. But to her great dismay, she skidded on the rocky surface, unable to take off fast enough. The SUV slammed into the passenger side with unbelievable force. The angle had been awkward, but it was enough to make her car jump further down the slippery shore.  

She felt pain on her head, and then warmth seeping down her eye and cheek. She was bleeding.

Her next thought was that muscle cars didn’t crumple, which worked in her favor at the moment of impact. Her interior remained mostly intact, but there didn’t seem any way out of this but down. The SUV’s third impact was nothing more than a nudge, but it sent her car careening into the lake.

The drop from the shore was sharp where it met the water and her car instantly dipped backwards, lifting her front wheels off the ground. She was falling into the water and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Her mind foggy from the impact to her head, she tried to open her door. Pain from her shoulder electrified her body. She couldn’t move her left arm. She used her other hand, and pull though she did on the door handle, it wouldn’t budge. The collisions had definitely damaged the gears on the door.

Gritting her teeth against her injuries, she reached over to the other door to try it. Of course it was even worse than the driver’s side. That’s where the first and most powerful collision first hit.

She pressed on the switch for her driver’s side window. The window rolled down lazily a few inches before halting completely.  

The water was coming in.  

She was going to drown.

This was not how she had wanted to go.

Mustering what strength she had left, she turned her body on her seat so that her feet were facing the door. She grabbed the steering wheel with one hand and her driver’s seat, feebly, with the other. Bracing one foot against the door, she used the other to kick the window outward. It didn’t budge. She kicked again, and again, until the glass started to crack.

She could feel the water coming up to her seat. She didn’t have a lot of time. If water filled before she could make a dent on her windows, it was over.  

Screaming, she kicked as hard as she could, and as she watched that crack take its time getting bigger, her dread blossomed dark and large in her chest.

 

*********************

 

A few weeks ago, Jughead had confronted Tall Boy in the cellar of the Whyte Wyrm and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he and his boys could either work for him or they could be held in captivity for as long as it would take.

Detainment, of course, was not a course of action that the FBI condoned, but Jughead figured this would fall under the terms of his contract--where he had to perform certain criminal acts to further the FBI’s case. After all, captivity was better than murder.

So for a few days, Tall Boy, Handsome, Sick Jim, and Young Gun were kept in a facility that looked suspiciously like an old abandoned police precinct in the Bronx that Jughead just “happened” to find. And after a few days of what Jughead hoped was deep reflection, he had a private chat with Young Gun, who basically sat there, shocked, as Jughead told him, “We’re working with the FBI and I need Tall Boy to cooperate while this is happening. Can you convince Tall Boy and the others, without telling them about the FBI, to take my orders or do we have to keep them here while this is going down?”

Jughead had to do a bit more explaining to Young Gun after that, but that was the thing with Young Gun--he was a reasonable guy. He was smarter, and unlike Tall Boy, he trusted Jughead. “Give me a few days,” Young Gun had finally said.

Handsome and Sick Jim were far easier to convince. Tall Boy was a stubborn idiot.

A few days later, all but Tall Boy were released from captivity. Tall Boy wasn’t going anywhere and he’d been stuck in that facility for weeks. He had a proper cot, they gave him proper food. They gave him a change of clothing. He was comfortable, but he was imprisoned. People thought he was dead, particularly because none of his guys wanted to talk about it.

The Serpents were afraid of him now, the way they never used to.

Jughead was just fine with that reputation for the moment. He needed it, especially in light of the _bratva,_ but it was wearing him down, week by week. He was a college student, for goodness sake. He never went around breaking kneecaps or cutting off people’s extremities to intimidate misbehaving gang members, much less kill someone, but people seemed to think he was capable of such things.

Sure, he’d done some violent things in the past, but he never took pleasure in them, and it never became a regular thing with him. He still had dreams of skinning Penny Peabody’s tattoo off her arm, arguably the worst thing he’d ever done in his life, no matter how much he justified it to himself, he knew in his bones that what he’d done was awful, however effective at accomplishing his goals.  

As he stood at the docks, Malachi making mild jokes about Thanksgiving turkeys and stuffing it with heroin (not funny at all), Jughead felt the weight of his weapons on his body. The gun tucked into his back, the knife in his pocket, the wire on his chest.

The docks smelled of dirty asphalt and fishy salt. They were surrounded by shipping containers, their view of New York obstructed. The Ghoulies were perched high above and stalking the grounds around them.  According to Chic, every Ghoulie was accounted for.  Jughead wasn’t sure that was possible. There were so many corners he couldn’t see.

Beside Jughead was Sweet Pea. His shoulders were relaxed--his face a picture of calm. Jughead wished he could summon that state of serenity.

The shipment arrived, the freighter pulling up in the clearing with a truck. The drivers disembarked and approached their group. Malachi called them by name--Vyacheslav and Imre.

Clearly, they encountered one another on a regular basis, but there was no one else, and when Malachi asked when he could meet their boss, one of them chuckled and said they were only there to deliver.

These mobsters weren’t officially high level, but Malachi called Vyacheslav _The Butcher,_ which made Jughead feel sick to his stomach.  Hitmen were so often some of the most trusted members of the mob. Even if Vyacheslav weren’t a _boss,_ he had standing, he had a position. This guy wasn’t just a peon.

Jughead was introduced and he looked into the eyes of these _bratva,_ unsure whether the impassive looks were born from having a clear conscience or from complete and utter coldness from within.

Malachi handed over the money and the truck was given to the Ghoulies for unloading.  

“Tell your bosses that you’ll be dealing with Jughead from now on,” Malachi said.

Vyacheslav shrugged. “Boss is aware. This one is the Serpent, yes? So long as he brings the money, we have no objections.”

Jughead’s stomach turned, even as he nodded in acknowledgement. They were led to the back of the freight container and its doors were swung open.

He’d seen his fair share of drugs, especially over the last couple of weeks, but this was a huge truck load of it and it was more than Jughead had ever seen at once.

Pillows and pillows of powdery white bags, filled with what Jughead could only assume was jingle jangle. To the other side of the container were bags filled with a darker powder. This was heroin. This was _a lot._

It was then the pop of bullets sounded loud and jarring in the quiet air. Jughead jerked in surprise. He hadn’t expected a raid tonight. He had thought that the FBI would want to follow the _bratva_ lead, and his shocked expression was not acting.

“FBI!” echoed repeatedly through the docks.  “Put down your weapons!” followed by pops and more incoherent screaming.

It was then chaos scattered throughout and everyone on the docks scrambled.  

Jughead ducked and ran for cover, diving behind a stack of freight containers and pressing his back against it for protection. Sweet Pea was nowhere to be found. He peeked carefully over the corner and a bullet whizzed by. He jerked back and ducked at the sound of a ricocheting bullet.

This was _not_ part of the plan. The FBI weren’t supposed to raid tonight. Chic told him they were likely to follow the _bratva_ lead. They raid now, the Russian mob lead goes away, or maybe not?

More FBI agents began spilling into the clearing and seemed to be overwhelming the Ghoulies.

Had Malachi gotten arrested yet? He had to be, or else Jughead would have to worry about him being at large.

Malachi was no fool--he would _know_ what went wrong tonight. The Ghoulies have been conducting this handoff without a hitch for months. They hadn’t had any trouble then, so this raid shouldn’t have happened. It was too much of a coincidence that it happened tonight, when Jughead was first being introduced to the Russian mob.

If Malachi wasn’t arrested tonight, Jughead would have to keep looking over his shoulder until Malachi was caught, and worse, Betty and his sister might have to stay out of New York for longer. Not to mention Archie and the Serpents.

He needed to find Malachi and deliver him to the FBI, if the FBI hadn’t found him already.

As the sound of gunshots slowed down, Jughead darted out of his hiding place, staying close to the edges of the clearing and being as inconspicuous as possible. He went into the direction of the warehouses, where he might have seen Malachi take flight.

Jughead stayed hidden in corners under the cover of shadows. As he steadied his breathing, he reminded himself that Malachi always had a gun. Carefully, he unhooked the gun from his holster and brought it up to eye level, pointing it away from him as he removed the safety, checked its chamber, and cocked it. He had to be prepared to defend himself.

There was a shuffling sound towards the back entrance of the building and as Jughead followed it, it got louder.  As he peeked around the corner, Malachi’s car came into view and Jughead saw him stuffing big bags into the back of his Dodge.   

Jughead could only guess that even in the frenzy of law enforcement descending upon them, Malachi was just greedy enough to run into the back of the freighter truck and take with him as many bags of drugs as he could.

It almost worked, too, if Jughead hadn’t known where his car was parked.

Jughead came out with his gun drawn and aimed. “Where you going, Malachi? You aren’t just leaving the rest of us, are you? Where are your bodyguards?”

“Junior!” Malachi cried, grinning, as if having a gun aimed at his face weren’t something to be alarmed about. “My boys scrambled when they heard the FBI. Figures, they were just stand ins for Jekyll and Hyde.”

Jughead always marveled at how Ghoulie nicknames often involved some gothic horror character, but if he were being completely honest, it was pretty ridiculous that Serpent names were often a senseless combination of random stuff, so maybe the Ghoulies were actually doing it better.

“You got a good haul there,” Jughead remarked, his eyebrow arching at the bags of drugs laid at Malachi’s feet.

“Well, I’m trying to get _some_ of my investment back. I’m losing a great deal tonight, no thanks to you.”

It was no surprise that Malachi would blame him, of course, but he honestly did not have to admit to anything. “Me? What did I do? For all I know, you’re the one who pulled this stunt.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Jones?” Malachi said, losing some of his composure. “I’m pretty sure none of my guys would dare to betray me this way. I _knew_ there was something fishy about that F-Bomb, but you know, I kinda gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

Jughead scoffed. “Oh, please. You were greedy. You wanted to grow your business. You needed me to do that.”

Malachi didn’t deny it. His hand moved surreptitiously into his car’s trunk and Jughead was quick to notice it. He aimed at the Dodge’s tail light and fired. The gunshot boomed through the warehouse and Malachi jerked his hand back violently.

“Step away from the car!” Jughead ordered him. “Now, Malachi!”

“Shit, you still got it, college. I respect that,” he said, carefully sidestepping as he followed instructions.

Jughead walked briskly to the car, finding the gun lying on the trunk floor. He grabbed it, removed the bullets from the chamber, and checked the barrel. A bullet slid out. With the gun now unarmed, he tucked it in his back pants, never losing sight of Malachi and never lowering his own firearm.

“You’re walking with me to the FBI,” Jughead said. “You’re getting turned in.”

“Nah, fuck that. I ain’t doing shit,” Malachi said, self-assuredly. “You know, I don’t ever trust people completely, but there was always something about you, Junior.”

“Yeah, I’m a special snowflake.” He closed in on Malachi. “Hold your hands up.”

“You were a hustler and I can never figure you out,” continued Malachi as he walked slowly in the direction Jughead’s gun was indicating. “But one thing I knew--you would do anything for your girl. So tonight, I had my guys make sure she was okay. You wondering where Jekyll and Hyde are? They’re with two other guys, making sure Betty gets to where she’s going.”

His words were only now registering in Jughead’s brain and he could feel his heart thudding frantically. His hands were growing cold involuntarily. “You’re an idiot and a liar, Malachi,” he said, calmly.

Malachi shrugged. “Am I? They’ve been following her car the last two hours and when the FBI came, I made the call for them to grab her. They probably have her right now, and if I don’t call Jekyll or Hyde in the next couple of hours, they will kill her.”

He shouldn’t believe Malachi. This was just Malachi’s way of distracting him. “Get on the ground. Now.”

Malachi scowled, dropping to one knee, and then another. “If you don’t believe me, check my phone. It’s in my breast pocket. Go on, now. The text is the first thing you’ll see.”

“Get on the ground.”

Malachi lay prostrate on the warehouse floor and Jughead pressed his knee to Malachi’s back. Against his better judgement, he did scramble to get Malachi’s phone, and when he pressed its screen open, the text that stared right back at him felt like the floor hollowing out beneath him:

**_It’s done. She’s gone and drowned._ **

Jughead had not expected that. He had expected something like, **_We got her._** Or even something like, **_What do you want us to do with her?_** or something else completely. Not: **_It’s done._** Not: **_She’s drowned._**

It shattered him so completely that next thing he knew, Malachi had clocked him on the jaw and his gun was sliding on the floor, away from him. Malachi jumped to his feet and went after the gun. Jughead recovered quickly from the hit and charged, shoulder first into Malachi’s gut, slamming him full bodied against the parked car. Jughead’s fist was connecting with Malachi’s face, but Malachi was not going down without a fight.

“Oh, those last seconds must’ve been horrific for her, Jonesey!” Malachi cried as he jammed a knee right into Jughead’s side.

At that moment, Jughead didn’t even feel the pain of Malachi’s blows. His rage was the only thing keeping him standing in the face of overwhelming grief.

Images of Betty drowning--he didn’t know how, but the words were clear: **_She’s gone and drowned_ ** _\--_ flashed through his head, and all he wanted to do was kill Malachi. He reached into his pocket, thrusting his knife between them.

Malachi untangled himself from their grappling and jumping back, just missing the blade’s edge. Jughead squared his shoulders and surged forward, knife aiming for Malachi’s body, but Malachi dove, grabbing the gun from off the floor.

“FBI!” came a familiar voice behind Jughead.

Malachi shifted his aim, swinging it in the direction of Chic who was emerging from behind the shelves. Jughead took the opportunity and lunged for Malachi. They both fell to the floor in a tangle, struggling with the gun.

“Get off him, Forsythe!” Chic’s voice reverberated through the warehouse, and yet Jughead could barely see through the burgeoning thought that Betty was dead.

Malachi rolled them over, Jughead beneath him.

Jughead had the trigger in his grip and the muzzle was aimed at Malachi’s shoulder. For a brief moment, Jughead knew that if he pushed ever so slightly, the muzzle would be at Malachi’s throat and Jughead could simply pull the trigger, but did he want that? Would that relieve his grief?

Malachi did not have the same qualms. Jughead felt something cold and painful dig into his side, and Jughead _knew_ Malachi would not hesitate to kill him. Pressing the gun on Malachi’s shoulder he pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered on his face and Malachi screamed.

Jughead felt another sharp thrust on his side, and he gasped, struggling to point his gun again, hoping to fire off another shot, but his vision was already dimming.

Another gunshot reverberated through the warehouse, and Jughead knew it did not come from his firearm.

Malachi slumped against him, motionless.

“Forsythe!” Chic cried, going to him and hauling Malachi off him. “Forsythe, are you alright?”

Jughead wasn’t sure. He couldn’t move, and the pain on his side was intensifying. There was a warm wetness seeping from his shirt and it smelled faintly like metal.

Chic stared at him for a heartbeat before screaming, “Medic! I need a medic!”

“B-Betty,” Jughead rasped. “Call Betty.” He felt Chic press on his side. It hurt like hell and the pressure was unrelenting, but he supposed that was how one stopped the flow of blood.

“Medic, now!” Chic was shouting above Jughead’s soft pleas.

Jughead felt utterly helpless and his tears came unbidden, but even his grief couldn’t keep the blood from leaving his body, and he faded from consciousness as strangers descended upon him from all sides.

***************

The glass was pebbling.

Betty kicked as hard as she could and _finally_ her foot punched through. The water was coming in hard and fast, but she knew the window was broken. The shattered glass gave under the rush of dark lake water. She reached up, flicking the overhead light open. It wasn’t going to stay on for very long, but a few seconds of light would help her get out a lot faster.  

She fought to stave off her panic, reaching deep to look for that quiet place where no voices could rattle her. She needed to focus. She needed to get out of this car.

The water was up to her chin now and she craned her neck to the car’s ceiling, taking a deep, filling breath before the water completely enveloped her and her body was submerged. The light flickered, but Betty had a clear plan.

Floating in the deep waters, she pushed herself through the open window of her car. The pain on her shoulder was almost unbearable, and the steady sting and ache on her head nagged, but she had a singular purpose: to survive.

She slid out even as her car continued its descent. She kicked off from its roof and knew she was floating to the surface.

She didn’t know how far she had to go, it was so dark, but she kicked as hard as she could and grappled with the water with the good arm she had. She was seeing light, and she felt her resolve strengthening. Her face broke the surface and she took a labored gasp of air.

And then she felt the tug. Right on her ankle, and she was underwater again. She struggled feebly against this disembodied force. She felt it take her entire leg, and then her body. It was a faceless man, and he was pushing her down as he broke the surface of the lake.

Her hands found his face and she pushed her thumb right into his eyes. His grip on her loosened and jerked, and she managed to get another gulp of icy cold air before he pushed her down again, head first, into the water.

She was fast losing purchase, and she didn’t know how much more she could take. But she heard a sharp sound from beyond the water. Her attacker’s grip loosened and suddenly, a thick, metallic taste touched her tongue. She was free, and her face was out of the water.

She breathed, painfully, the air filling her lungs. The man she had been tussling with was now slumped face down in the water, and even through the darkness, she could tell that the water around her was darkening with his blood.

On the shore, a woman slung off her jacket and then jumped into the water, swimming towards her.

“I got you!” the woman cried as she reached Betty. “I got you!”

Strong arms enveloped Betty, and in her relief, she started to sob. She caught sight of the woman’s face and remembered who she was.

“Agent Person,” she sputtered. “Oh, my God.”

“You’re alright!” Agent Person said as she swam them to shore.  “You’re fine, Betty.”

Betty coughed up more water, a burning pain blooming from her chest and eyes, but she was able to take those breaths of air, and she was now on the shore, face against the rough pebbles.

Her whole body hurt. She didn’t know how, but it did, and as Agent Person pulled her even further out, she felt limp. Like she couldn’t get up.  

A bit of warmth enveloped her, and she realized it was because Agent Person had draped her dry coat over Betty.

When Betty was able to steady her breathing and the pain had waned from her chest, she realized that there were police lights flashing everywhere.

“Girl,” Agent Person said, collapsing beside her on the shore and rubbing her back tenderly. It felt like a balm in the chaos and Betty hadn’t appreciated another human being so much since Jughead bought her a care package for her colds.  “You are a hard lady to catch. You’re too fast for your own good.”

Betty didn’t know how the FBI found her, but she was glad for it. “H-How?”

“Bet you never thought that GPS tracker on your phone would ever be used, huh?” Agent Person gasped, smirking. “We got a late-breaking tip--about Malachi’s hitmen being sent after a person of interest. We figured we’d find you and make sure you weren’t the one on their hit list.”

God, she loved technology.

Betty struggled to push herself up to a sitting position and Agent Person helped her. She saw the car that had rammed her into the lake and saw one body on the ground. A tarp was already being draped over him.  Another person was being taken into custody.

A group of people were suiting up nearby, intending to dive into the lake to recover what Betty could only figure were the bodies of the men who had chased her. She shuddered at the body count.  

Three people were dead. Because of her. She trembled and tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Hey,” Agent Person said, increasing the pressure of the circles she was making on Betty’s back. “You’re good. You’re safe.”

“People are dead,” Betty whispered. “Because of me.”

“They tried to kill you, Betty,” Agent Person said, firmly. “You did good running them off the road and getting out of that car, all by yourself. You are alive because you refused to let them take you.”

Betty nodded. She had refused to give up. She didn’t want to die.

She didn’t want to die.

She smiled, slightly, remembering how powerful her will to live had been, and absolutely nothing else mattered. She was alive and she was stronger for it.

When her heart settled to a steady beat and her tears had ceased to seep from her eyes, her thoughts were immediately on Jughead.

“You need to check on Jughead,” she said with a renewed urgency. “If they went after me--”

“Agent Person!” another agent cried from higher up the shore. “Agent Murray on the phone!”

Agent Person’s hands automatically went to her pocket, probably wondering, and then realizing, why Chic had to call someone else’s phone. Hers was likely waterlogged.

The agents met each other halfway, and a few seconds into the phone call, Agent Person was looking at Betty.

Dread suffused her. It was like she _knew._

The calm that had overtaken her just a minute ago was fast dissipating, replaced by an overwhelming nausea. Her head spun, and she wondered, outrageously, if she was _literally_ passing out.

She fought the vertigo, but the nausea was still there, pushing her at her gut.

“Jughead,” she managed to choke out as she took deep breaths. “Is he alright?”

Someone was kneeling beside Betty, and he was holding a light up to her face. He looked like a paramedic.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked.

“B-Betty—I need to know—“

“Betty, you’ve got a concussion,” he said, kindly. “Can I take a look at your shoulder?”

She could barely concentrate, even as she nodded and let the paramedic examine it. A sharp pain shot down her arm and she cried out instinctively.

“Yeah, it’s dislocated. We’ll get that fixed—“

“Somebody tell me if Jughead’s alright!” Betty demanded, her voice carrying.

Agent Person’s eyes met hers, lips pursing slightly. “You get yourself patched up and I will tell you what I know.”

Betty bit back her tears, nodding.

If he was dead, they’d tell her.

It was all she could tell herself to get through the minutes of hopeless dread.

 

***********

 

Jughead was swimming in warm water. He was kicking and afloat, but the dull pain on his side kept him immobile. Breathing hurt and slowly, steadily, he knew he was sinking.

This felt like a fitting way for him to go. After all, Betty had purportedly perished the same way. In an odd, tragic sense, it would at least be like he was with her when it happened. Their shared experience of having water fill their lungs close enough for him to pretend that he had been with her during their final minutes.

The water closed in around him and his chest burned as it took in water. He kicked, unable to break the surface. Unable to help himself. It was a slow slide into the darkness.

And for a moment in time, he understood just what it was like to want to quiet the grief so badly that death seemed like a welcome friend.

 

********************

 

The darkness gave way to light, his body resurfacing with the help of an invisible hand. He took in gulps of air.

He was still there, but he wondered just how much of this time was borrowed.

When Jughead next opened his eyes, it was bright and powder blue.

There were windows where the light was shining through and the walls were painted in that calming azure.

Around him, monitors beeped and valves gurgled. Pumps hissed and the smell of sterile floors, walls, and sheets were sharp.

There were tubes connected to him and his body was elevated on a soft bed.

There was, surprisingly, a minimal amount of pain. Then again, if the tubes leaking fluid into him were any indication, there was probably some kind of pain killer at work.

He was alive.

He couldn’t believe it but he was.

Beside his arm was the unmistakable sight of a ponytailed blonde head. It could be no one else, and it occurred to him that she was alive, and that her death had been nothing but a nightmare.

He started to cry, unbidden. His relief was so overwhelming it took over, and he took a few seconds to work through his sobs before he trusted himself to speak. “Babe.”

It came out as a croak, his throat parched and dry. He reached for her head and felt the soft strands of her golden hair on his fingertips.

She stirred, slowly at first, then she was up, panicked for the briefest moment before she realized who had touched her. Her eyes began filling as she realized who had awoken her.

“Juggie,” she whispered. “Oh, Jug.”

He was stunned, staring slack-jawed at the bruises covering half her face. His eyes catalogued the other injuries, his gaze sweeping over the large cut on her forehead, the brace around her neck, and the sling supporting her arm.

He touched her cheek, finding that surprisingly hard to do. “What—“ he gasped. “What did they do to you, baby? What the fuck did they—“

“It doesn’t matter.” She took his hand in hers, her tears overflowing. “Juggie, we almost lost you.”

“Who did this?” he asked, his voice rough with rage. “Who--”

“Please, Juggie,” she whispered, biting her lip. “That doesn’t matter right now,” she repeated.

He took a deep breath. It mattered. He thought it did. Who would even think to hurt someone like her this way?  Who would dare?

But he loved her so much, he would give her anything, even this. “I thought you were dead,” he said, clasping her hand tight. “They told me you were dead.”

She shook her head, bending over him to press tearful kisses on his forehead, his face, and then his lips, where she lingered, like she’d been meaning to do so for days.

When she pulled back, her gaze looked determined. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, tearfully. She didn’t move away. She was still close enough that their noses could touched, her fingers sinking into the dark locks of his hair. “Why didn’t you just say you were meeting with the Russian mob?”

He chuckled, softly. Painfully. “Would you have left me? Gone to Boston?”

She didn’t deny it and he knew he was right. She wouldn’t have left at all. She would have stayed put, and if he survived that night, she would relive that nightmare over and over every time he left to do it again, but she wouldn’t have left, because she was stubborn and she wasn’t afraid.

Now he had to wonder if she would’ve gotten hurt like this if he hadn’t told her to leave.

“I’m stubborn, Juggie. I would’ve stayed, but if I hadn’t left my apartment, I would’ve been a sitting duck,” she said, softly. “Instead they came after me in my car and I’m stronger when I’m driving. You know that.”

He did, but he didn’t think they would come after her en route to Boston. He still couldn’t get that image out of his mind, of her drowning--he wasn’t even certain if that was real at this point. He had only been going with what he saw on that text screen. And he was sure that if she told him the whole story, it would be as horrible as he imagined, but she was alive and maybe that was all that mattered.

In the end, it was the Ghoulies who tried to hurt her. It was the Ghoulies who went after her. Not the _bratva_.

He pulled her closer, a gentle tug, hoping for more of those kisses, because he couldn’t just get up and pull her into his arms. She knew, so easily, what he needed, and her lips melted into his, reassuring and _there._ His fingers raked lightly in her hair to keep her where she was, but after several minutes, she pulled away, softly telling him that she really needed to tell the doctor he was awake.

He watched her walk off, a slight limp in her gaite. Even in his painkiller induced haze, he wondered, darkly, who had done this to her.

Not that he was in any position at all to find this motherfucker and beat the shit out of him, but he needed this information.

_For science._

He tried to sit up a bit higher and found that the painkiller, while serving to dull the pain, did make his head spin unnecessarily.

As he lay there, trying ro recover, Betty walked back into his room with an entourage of people: Jellybean, Archie, a doctor, two nurses, Chic, and Agent Person.

Jellybean threw herself on top of him, sobbing into his shoulder, and Jughead could only loop one arm over her back. He tried not to let the tide of Jellybean’s tears take him, patting her soothingly until she calmed down.

The whole time, the nurses and doctor checked his monitors, his reflexes, and finally, his incisions. Apparently, he’d been in surgery.

“One of your kidneys was irreparable. It had to be removed,” the doctor informed him, gravely. “Fortunately, you can manage with only one of them, though I would recommend you lay off on the alcohol.”

“Not a problem,” Jughead croaked. He couldn’t believe he was one-kidney gone. It felt oddly unsettling, to be missing a vital body part.

“Your spleen, we were able to save. It’s going to take some time to heal, Mr. Jones, but your prognosis is good. We’re taking out your catheter tomorrow evening--”

“Great.”

“And you’re going to have to walk to the bathroom.”

“Can’t wait.”

One of the nurses patted his arm encouragingly before packing up all the equipment they dragged in and wheeling it out.  The doctor gave a few more instructions regarding his stay and eventual release before he bid them all farewell and walked out of the room.

“Dude,” Archie said, coming up to his side and clasping Jughead’s hand with a shake of his head. “You are totally out of your mind, you know that? And I don’t mean that as a compliment. Well, maybe a little. Okay, maybe a lot. You’re a badass.”

“Archie.” Betty was frowning and Archie had to slink away, slightly shamefaced.

Chic stepped up to the bed. “Forsythe, I’m glad you made it. It’s not everyday you survive a drug bust, stop a drug lord, and survive a stabbing all at once.”

“Hooray for me,” Jughead drawled, weakly. “How’s Sweet Pea? Is he okay?”

Chic scoffed. “Strong as a bull. He went looking for you shortly after the FBI arrived. He said he lost you in the scramble. He was the one who pointed us in the direction of the warehouse--said it was where Malachi would go to get away and where you’d probably be. I can hear you through your wire but I had no idea where you were.”

Sweet Pea probably saved his life.  He needed to buy the guy dinner to whatever healthy restaurant he wanted.

“They’re on their way here, Jug,” Betty said, slipping her hand into his as she sat at the edge of his bed. “Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs.”

Jughead nodded, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand. He still couldn’t get over how beat up she looked. “Who did this to you, babe?” he asked, again.

She tilted a smile at him, but she said nothing, looking instead at Agent Person.

Agent Person arched an eyebrow, but seemed to have understood Betty’s wordless message. “Three out of the four of them are dead, Jones.”

Malachi wasn’t lying when he said he sent four people to get her. He squeezed Betty’s hand.

“Don’t get any bright ideas, Forsythe,” Chic said, seriously. “If something happens to that one guy that made it, I’m coming after you.”

“Chic!” Betty gasped.

“I’m kidding,” Chic drawled.

Jughead actually thought that was funny. He must be more hopped up on meds than he thought. Laughing did give his stomach a painful twitch, however.  

“Agent Person saved my life,” Betty said.  “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”

Agent Person cocked a grin. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You were doing pretty well saving yourself.”

Betty shrugged. “Just long enough for you to come to my rescue. I’ll forever be in your debt.”

“Please, it’s what I do,” Agent Person said, chuckling. “I will collect with your brother, though. He owes me, big time, so thanks for that.”

Chic shot her a sardonic look.

Jughead figured he owed not just Sweet Pea, but Agent Person and Chic, as well.  “Arch, mind if you step out with JB for a bit? I have some stuff I gotta sort out with the FBI.”

Archie scowled. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours and you only just--!”

“For a while? Please?”

“You have thirty minutes, dude.  C’mon, JB. Let’s grab some coffee.”

For a second, Jellybean looked like she wasn’t going to budge, but she stood, pouting, as she followed Archie out of the room.  

With that, Jughead asked the question that’s been bothering him the moment the FBI stormed that dock. “I thought you wanted to go after the Russian mafia. Why’d you raid that operation?”

Chic sighed. “It was many things: politics, duty--a bit of strategy. The _bratva_ was an unexpected entity in our investigation of Malachi, but my job was to stop Malachi’s operation and to keep my assets safe.”

“Assets? You mean me and the Serpents.”

Chic nodded. “I didn’t want you getting involved with the _bratva,_ Forsythe, so I told the _bratva_ task force that they could get their own sting operation. This one was mine. They didn’t agree. I fought it to the last second, and ultimately, when they found out that Vyacheslav ‘The Butcher’ Lazovsky was on that dock, they wanted _him_ captured. We got the go to raid at the very last second, and since we were raiding the Ghoulies, it provided the perfect cover for the capture of one of the _bratva’s_ top hitmen. The FBI’s assets in the _bratva_ stay safe and you’re off the hook. We’ve been raiding the Ghoulie manufacturing plants around the city since last night, and by the end of the week, the Ghoulies will be no more. The best thing about it is you don’t have to worry about the _bratva_ coming after you.”

“Off the hook…” Jughead breathed. This meant he can go back to his life. It meant this was over. “And Malachi?”

“Dead. You might have forgotten that while you were bleeding to death. Understandable.”

_Dead._

It was done. The Ghoulies. The drugs. The threat to his loved ones lives.

Chic and Agent Person didn’t stay much longer. They took Jughead’s statement of the events that transpired at the docks, but most of what he told them had been recorded through his wire. They didn’t need much more at the moment. They would summon him again when it came time for the trials, but hopefully, he’d be better recovered by then.

When Chic and Agent Person left, he and Betty were alone again.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” Jughead asked her, tenderly. “Betts, Malachi told me you were dead. I think I may have even believed him. It’s like, now--I need to hear it from you. How you _survived,_ then maybe I can check that off my PTSD.”

She gave him a gentle smile. “I will, after _I’ve_ wrapped my head around it, okay?”

“I’m sorry. Of course. I’m a jerk--”

“No, it’s okay, but just so you know, no one laid a hand on me. Nobody beat me, this is all--” she waved a hand towards herself. “--getting banged around in a car that was getting hit by a speeding SUV.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “That doesn’t make it better, babe.”

She shrugged her good shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“God, don’t apologize. None of it was your fault. I just wish I’d been there,” he said, quietly, as he looked at her, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratefulness that she was sitting by his bed, with him. “All those things I said to you, Betts, I only said it to convince you to drive to safety. If I--If I ever worry about you like that again, I would never send you away. _Never,_ Betts. I love you. I will take care of you.”

Her eyes were soft as she looked at him, and again, she leaned over to kiss him.  “So you _were_ worried about me? About my state of mind?” She didn’t look angry as she asked this, for which he was thankful.

“God, of course I was. I love you. But I am not afraid to help you. You have to believe me. And I do know you’re strong and capable, but I know that there are things none of us can do alone, in fact, most of those things you _don’t have to_ do alone. I wanted to be there for you, but it felt--it felt impossible. My only priority was your safety. I thought I’d just worry about the other stuff when the danger had passed.”

She nodded, pressing his hand to her cheek. “I know. I know that now. And I believe you, Jug. I’m just happy you’re alive. You have no idea. When they _told_ me how badly hurt you were--”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even care if you meant what you said when you sent me away. I was just bargaining to some--some higher entity, and I’m not even religious. I had to keep telling myself you were strong enough to get through this and--oh, my God, that waiting room was filled with people. You know Jellybean and Archie were there, of course, and Fred was there, too. Kevin and Polly both got on a train to be with me, and for a few hours, Veronica and Cheryl showed up. There were so many Serpents, but of course Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs stayed the longest. They only started to let themselves breathe again when the doctor said you were out of danger.”

“Was Toni crying?” He was grinning as he said this, and Betty had to slap his arm lightly.

“Jug… of course she was. Between me, Toni, and Jellybean, we demolished a box of tissues each. So, _don’t_ make fun of her, okay? That’s just mean.”

“I’m kidding… I--it’s been the hardest weeks of all of our lives, I think. And God, I don’t know how law enforcement does this on a regular basis.”

“Jug… I can hardly believe it’s over.”

He took her hand and pressed it to his heart.

It was over. She was alive. He was alive.

Nothing would ever be the same, but they came out of it stronger than ever.  

At least, that’s what he felt. Only time would tell, but he had a pretty good feeling that things could only get better from now on.

 

 

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.


	20. Ride or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, in which it doesn't have to end, but it does have to finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are and I'm kinda sad, but also very relieved. 
> 
> Without further ado, here's the final chapter of Drive.

Life is a highway  
I wanna ride it all night long  
If you're going my way  
I wanna drive it all night long

Through all these cities and all these towns  
It's in my blood, and it's all around  
I love you now like I loved you then  
This is the road, and these are the hands

\--Life is a Highway, Rascal Flatts

 

 

Their bodies healed.  

Eight weeks to the day and the doctors told Jughead that he could resume normal activity, even if he should still take it a bit slow over the next four, after all, he was one kidney short.  

He gets it. Time heals. There was no magic pill to speed up healing, no matter how many healthy salads and juices Betty (and Sweet Pea--boy, did he go into hyper-unsolicited-advice-on-food mode) made him ingest.

The painkillers had stopped at six weeks and for a few days, Jughead felt mild withdrawal symptoms, which he really didn’t complain much about.  Betty fussed, which he would never admit to enjoying. His jokes about sponge baths went unheeded, mostly because Betty was determined to follow the doctor’s orders of “no sexual activity.” 

Jughead still could not get over how mortified he felt when the doctor, a kindly old lady, told him that.  

In any case, Betty’s dislocated shoulder and sprained ankle had needed about as much time to mend. She said that repairing the injury had hurt worse than the infliction of it, which he believed, because the same could be said for his stab wounds. 

So when the doctor gave him the all-clear, Jughead went straight to Betty’s apartment from the doctor’s office, took the now-fixed elevator up to the seventh floor, and swept her into his arms the second she opened her apartment door. 

His last reasonable thought as he sucked on Betty’s tongue was kicking the door closed behind him with his foot. 

He hadn’t given a single thought to the possibility that Kevin was in the apartment, or that Kevin could simply key himself in through the front door.  

Jughead was ravenous for Betty after 8 solid weeks of nothing but heavy petting. 

The way her fingers raked down his back right now, the bruising suction of her lips on his, and the desperate mewling from her throat told him that she had missed this as much as he did. She tore down her tight ponytail and pulled off her shirt. She hadn’t been wearing a bra. And as he slipped his hands beneath her terry-cloth shorts, he discovered that she hadn’t been wearing panties, either, which sent his desire into near overdrive. 

“I knew you were coming from the doctor,” she rasped desperately. “God, Juggie, I’ve been counting the weeks!”

It was enough to ignite something primal inside him, throwing her down naked on the couch and going down on her there, burying his face between her thighs and thoroughly appreciating her clit and core with his mouth and tongue. He missed every part of her, but it was the sound of her moaning his name over and over, and the keen of her voice as she dissolved in the throes of ecstasy, that powered his imaginings of her the last few weeks.  

Hearing her pushed over the edge made him feel intoxicated, the reverberations of his pounding heart rippling throughout his body. He tore off his shirt and undid the buckles of his belt and pants. Betty helped him, frantically pushing down his boxers with his jeans. The canting of her hips summoned his impatience. 

With is pants around his ankles and his shoes still on, he buried himself in her on the couch, thrusting into her so hard that the end tables rattled and the heavy couch scraped grooves on the floor as it moved several inches from its place.  

He’d have been concerned, if his brain was half-functioning, but all he could hear was her, pleas not to stop, her  _ oh yeses  _ and her  _ harders,  _ and he was heady with it. He murmured his obscenities in her ear between scraping his teeth along her throat, licking the soft flesh beneath her jaw, and sucking fresh bruises on her shoulder. 

She took on his hands and pressed it against her beautiful breast. He palmed that soft mound, pinching her nipple gently in his fingers while he drove into her. 

When she told him she was close, he focused on keeping the pace, then he watched her come, her lashes fluttering like dark butterflies, her mouth falling open as she let out that intoxicating sound of heightened climax from her throat, and her neck arching, inviting, like the pulse of her around his cock.

He had missed this far too much to last any longer. His release flooded into her, her name falling from his lips as spots of white invaded his vision. He stroked himself inside her until he was spent, and his inevitable collapse against her followed. 

Chests heaving and sweat breaking, he only then appreciated how fantastic her skin and hair smelled. It was lilacs mixed with a hint of honey.

“Oh, Juggie!” she gasped. “Oh, my God, that felt so amazing. I missed that so much.”

He lifted his face from the crook of her shoulder, still drunk from his climax. “Betty… I’ve been dreaming of that the last two weeks.”

She giggled, softly. “We weren’t exactly abstaining completely...”

“Yes, but it’s a hundred times better when I’m inside you,” he drawled, nosing the underside of her jaw and nibbling softly at her ear. “I think I’ll be ready for round two in a few minutes, babe.”

Betty didn’t express any kind of objection whatsoever. She suggested, gently, that they had pushed their luck enough in the living room, and that her bedroom would probably be a safer bet.

**************

She wore his shirt because she knew he liked it. That and because she didn’t want him to be wearing one while he laid in bed. He was just in his boxers, now, his shoes and pants kicked off to the side. 

He looked a bit thinner in recovery, but the bags from his eyes were gone and his muscles remained taught in spite of the inactivity.  

She sat up beside him, facing him as she leaned lightly against his prone body. His hands rubbed lovingly against her thigh, tucking her knees against his side. 

She traced the new scar on the side of his body, just beneath his rib cage, and splayed her fingers gently over the rough scar tissue. Just like her scars didn’t scare him, her touch smoothed over the ridges of his puckered skin.

“Does it make me look sexy?” he teased, smirking. 

She shook her head, though she chuckled. “You’ve always been sexy to me, baby. You didn’t need any badass scars to make me want you.”

He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Does it bother you, then?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, softly. “When they told me what happened to you, it felt like--” she paused, lips pursed. This was not easy for her to say. “--like the world stopped. It sounds so dramatic, but it’s true. I didn’t know just how clearly I saw the future of  _ us  _ until I was hit with the reality that all those plans and dreams may never happen. It’s a painful memory, Jug, but this scar also reminds me of how you survived. When the doctor said you’d make it, I have never felt such relief in my life. So the scar doesn’t bother me, really...”

“I wasn’t afraid to die,” he confessed, quietly. “When I thought you were dead, I was so caught up in my grief that I forgot everything--Jellybean, Archie… I just thought death would take away the pain.”

This wasn’t the first time he had admitted that out loud, but it was the first time he acknowledged in some way how his grief had made him think of nothing and no one but losing her. 

She knew what it was like to want refuge from something you can’t run away from. Most of her middle school and high school had felt like that, so of course she wouldn’t judge him, but she was so, so glad that he survived his wounds. “Jug… you don’t have to feel guilty about that.”

He sighed. “I know. It just--it hit me, you know? How crippling it felt to lose you. Like nothing else mattered.” He threaded their fingers together, and it may have just been her imagination, but his ring finger started to rub the base of hers. 

“That tickles,” she whispered, even if it didn’t.

A small smile tugged one corner of his lips. “That spot’s precious real estate.”

She couldn’t believe he actually said something about it. She’d only started college and he was only a sophomore himself. As a practical matter, they were a long way off from taking any kind of life leap, but it thrilled her that he wasn’t shying away from the topic.

“It is,” she breathed. “I think I have a prospector looking into it.”

He chuckled. “You think?”

“I don’t want to presume.”

“Betty, in case I hadn’t been clear enough, you’re it, for me. The only way you’re going to get rid of me is if you kick me out and burn my clothes in the middle of the street.”

Laughter tinkled from her lips. “God, I don’t think I’d ever be so dramatic and angry with you, Juggie.”

“I’m glad to hear it, because I am clearly and thoroughly whipped. You have me right where you want me, Betty Cooper.”

“Hmm, yes. Watch out. I once ran a couple of dangerous men off the road and I kicked out the window of car.”

The smile on his lips became muted, the light from his eyes dimming ever so slightly. “C’mere and kiss me, babe.”

She did, knowing that talk of her ordeal always made him a little needy. A little beside himself. She felt it in the way his tongue swept her mouth, felt it in the urgent way he gripped a fist full of her hair. 

She kissed him to soothe him, because even as their bodies healed, their minds and hearts needed that, too.

 

******************

 

As he kissed her, he stamped down that pang of fear he felt whenever she spoke of her ordeal. He wanted to listen to her, and he wanted to hear it, because it helped to talk about both their experiences that night, and the nights before that, but it was harrowing, listening to her recount the details, and even as she told him how determined she was to survive, her desperate will to live, he didn’t want to think about that SUV ramming into the side of her car, or imagine the horror of seeing that water rushing into the compartment, coming up her waist and finally engulfing her whole. He didn’t want to keep thinking about that man who tried to drown her as she tried to get away.  He tried not to let the details on the wreckage of her beautiful car play in his mind like a forensic montage. 

He told himself and her that she had been brave and brassy, never allowing doubt and weakness to overcome her.  He admired her. Was proud of her. 

He would still protect her with his life. 

They didn’t pull apart immediately, their kiss lingering for a while, and when they parted, their noses touched. He breathed the words  _ I love you  _ against her lips, and she said,  _ I love you, too,  _ pressing a final kiss on his lips before lying her head against his chest. 

After a period of silence, she continued. “It may have been traumatic in some ways, but it changed something in me, Jug. I realized it when I hear Alice’s voice in my head,” she said, and he was quick to recognized that this was a new thread. She had never spoken about Alice in this context before. “It was like a switch, Jug. The last few weeks, whenever her voice began to get loud, I remembered what I did in that car. What I went through and how I survived. And when I thought I was out of options, someone helped me and I made it. The entire time, nothing else mattered but surviving, and in the face of that, Alice’s taunts suddenly mean nothing. It’s like finally, I’ve found a way to overcome her.”

He rubbed her arm, his palm running lightly up and down her bicep. He was  _ so  _ proud of her, especially because he knew it was true, because he knew there was another thing to indicate her gains. “You haven’t raced in weeks.”

She nodded. “I haven’t felt the urge. Also, I didn’t want to drive your F-Bomb. If I’m going to drive again, I want it to be my car.”

He chuckled. “It’s not really  _ mine.  _ It’s the FBI’s.”

She shrugged, chuckling. “Please. We made that car. The cost of it is chump change to the bureau. It’s still in my garage because Chic’s too lazy to do the paperwork. I think he might be willing to forget about it.”

“Okay, so why don’t  _ you _ take it?”

“Many reasons. Chic has told me nothing about what happened to Hans, and nobody’s texted me about him. I got a few invites from other circuits but… I don’t know. I just--my car’s a wreck. I feel… sentimental. It’s stupid.”

“No,” he cooed. “It isn’t. It took you years to complete that car, and it was beautiful, Betts. There’s nothing else like it. It hurt  _ me  _ to see it wrecked at the junkyard. I can’t imagine how you felt.”

She sighed. “Sad. I felt so deeply sad, even if I try to reconstruct it, it won’t ever be the same…”

“It won’t,” he agreed. “But maybe it did mark the end of an era for you. Maybe it’s the final chain to Alice’s hold. Maybe it’s time to start fresh… find a cool new car, give it brand new engine and a nice makeover. I’m thinking you would look super hot in a gleaming red machine or a silver one...”

She looked pensive for a moment, her eyebrow arching. She didn’t disagree, which meant she was open to possibilities. 

She shifted, grinning as she turned her hips and straddled him between her thighs. He licked his lips at the instant kindling of heat that sparked life into his dick. 

“Hmm, that was easy,” she purred, peeling his shirt off her body. 

He wasn’t going to argue the point. “Me? What got  _ you _ going?”

“Don’t you know me by now?” she asked, leaning over him to flick her tongue against his lips. 

He smiled briefly before combing his fingers through her hair and pulling her in for a deeper kiss. She always did get worked up by talk of cars. 

“Now lie back,” she whispered against his lips. “And let me screw your brains out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered in return. 

She would get no argument from him.

 

***************

 

Of course Tall Boy had been out and about since Jughead had gotten out of the hospital and was more or less able to walk without folding over in pain.  

As the now de facto leader of the Southside Serpents, Jughead summoned Tall Boy and his crew to speak to them.  Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs were there, as well, and as Jughead played the tape of Tall Boy taking orders from Malachi and then promising to get rid of Jughead, he could see Tall Boy’s crew fidgeting uneasily. Young Gun’s cheek twitched involuntarily, just before he got up to pace the room. 

“I’m not going to play this to the rest of the Serpents, Tall Boy,” Jughead had told him.  “Unless you force my hand. I’d rather not do this, because I don’t want your life on my conscience. The Serpents now know I did what I did to get rid of the Ghoulies. They will discover that you did what you did to embroil the Serpents in a business that we always considered to be contrary to the very foundation of our founding members.”

Tall Boy had a lot less venom, now that his supplier was gone and the recording clearly implicated him in colluding with their rival gang, not just to sell drugs, but to actually want to get rid of Jughead. 

This time, Tall Boy called Jughead’s bluff. “So what do you want from me, boy? My endorsement?”

Jughead gave a small huff. “I don’t need your endorsement. I want you to step the fuck down and then sunset your involvement in the Serpents.” There was no hesitation in Jughead’s tone. And when Tall Boy didn’t argue, he looked Handsome and Sick Jim in the eyes. “You two breathe wrong and I will run you both out of this club. Do you understand? 

Handsome and Sick Jim didn’t answer back, but their eyes lowered, unable to meet his.

“Young Gun.”

He stopped pacing and waited for Jughead to speak. 

“You keep your eye on these two. And stay close to Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs while I’m out.”

Young Gun nodded. “You got it, chief.”

Sweet Pea clapped a welcoming hand on Young Gun’s shoulder, and just like that, Young Gun was in Jughead’s crew.

That was four weeks in into Jughead’s recovery.

At ten weeks since Jughead was hospitalized, he watched as Toni took the vote on buying the Whyte Wyrm, her two angel investors standing alongside her, smiling proudly as a majority of the hands raised in her favor.

Betty gave a whoop of victory, throwing her arms around Toni, Cheryl, and Veronica. 

Kevin, his arm around his boyfriend, Joaquin, led the chant for Toni Topaz and started the impromptu celebration party that had Fangs running up the stage and firing up the karaoke machines.

Jughead watched Betty from the bar, fondly, her face alight with a renewed healthy glow as she spoke animatedly to Toni and her friends.

“Things are looking up, J,” Sweet Pea said, joining him at the bar. “Veronica just told me that if I was interested in setting up my own chop shop, she knows a few people who might be interested in granting me a loan. Can you imagine?”

Jughead chuckled, swizzling the straw he had in his soda. “Francis Lim, entrepreneur. I like the sound of it, dude.”

Sweet Pea laughed. “Don’t let anyone hear you call me that, or else I’ll start calling you Forsythe.”

“You’ve come a long way.”

“It’s a step up, I admit.”

Jughead nodded. “It’s fitting. After all, it’s better if the President of the Serpents was someone everyone can look up to.”

Sweet Pea froze on his seat for a heartbeat. “J…”

“You know you deserve it, man.”

Sweet Pea frowned. “You know that no one can do this better than you.”

“Dude, you ran half this club when I was gone. The members respect you.”

The huff that escaped Sweet Pea was sharp and derisive. “They respect me because you left me in charge. I didn’t do anything different. It didn’t fall apart but it didn’t get better, either.”

“Tall Boy held you back, but he isn't here anymore, and you have a head start at making something of the club. Toni’s there to give you a boost and Young Gun will be as loyal to you as you are to me. Fangs is just one of many who can make something of themselves. When members like me, you, Toni, and Fangs make it, our ability to open doors for others to advance grows. You’ve got this, Sweets.”

At that, Sweet Pea cocked a grin. “Sounds like you’re sticking around, anyway.”

Jughead nodded. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be in the next city over. Betty and I will help in any way we can.”

“You and wifey, eh?”

Jughead felt his ears burning. “Take it easy with the labels, dude.”

Sweet Pea scoffed. “When a girl sticks by you through an FBI sting operation and makes sure you don’t get your ass thrown in jail, you put a ring on it.”

“We’re a way off from that, but yeah, Betty’s kind of it, for me. I really can’t imagine being with anyone else. And she knows it. We’ve talked about it.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, brother,” Sweet said, asking the bartender for a beer. “So tell me this: Why do I have to be president if you’re sticking around?”

“There’s a  _ huge  _ difference between being the president and being  _ there  _ for the president. Between school, JB, my writing career, and Betty, I can’t add being President of the Southside Serpents on my plate. It wouldn’t be fair to JB and Betty and it wouldn’t be fair to the club. I’ve done my part for the MC and that’s it, man, but like I said, I’m here for you. You’re not going to do this alone.”

The chilled bottle of beer was placed in front of Sweet Pea, the bartender wrenching off its cap. Sweet Pea took a long swig of the craft brew.  “I’ll require all members to have Meatless Mondays.”

Jughead laughed softly, drinking his Coke. “You’ll have a mutiny in no time. Toni will lead it.”

Sweet Pea grinned. “She’ll be too busy running the Whyte Wyrm to care about what I do. And if she doesn’t like the way I run things, she’ll probably form her own gang.”

“Nah. Toni’s a Serpent through and through. Her grandfather’s a founding member so she always had that in her back pocket in case this vote went sideways. She will be a Serpent long after you’ve quit it.”

Sweet Pea did not disagree.  After a few seconds of silence, Sweet Pea tilted his bottle near Jughead’s glass. Jughead clinked his Coke with Sweet Pea’s beer. 

“Rock on, J,” Sweet Pea said. “You came, you saw, you kicked ass. You’re still the best man for the job but if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“I’d trust no one else.”

A few minutes later, Betty came up to him and said, “Can I buy you a drink, handsome?”

He smiled and pulled her close to his side, his arm looped around her waist. “I don’t drink, but I’ll buy you anything you want, gorgeous.”

She giggled and kissed him, the faint taste of lemon-lime on her tongue. “I may have already taken a shot or two back there. I’m a  _ little  _ tipsy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He smirked as her hands wandered a little further south. “I may have an inkling.”

Behind her, Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and waved a wordless goodbye. Jughead gave him a small nod of acknowledgement before Sweet Pea turned and walked in the direction of the pool tables. 

Betty closed her eyes and tucked her head against the crook of Jughead’s shoulder, slipping her arms around him under his jacket. “You and Sweet Pea looked kinda serious. You’re supposed to be having fun, celebrating with Toni.”

He nodded. “I’ll head over there in a bit. I told him, Betts. That I wasn’t going to be president.”

She paused for only a second. “How did he take it?”

“Well enough. He’ll make a good leader.”

“I know he will, but are you sure you’re doing it because you want to and not because…?” She left the question hanging, but Jughead didn’t have to hear the rest of it to know what she meant. 

“I’m stepping down because you and JB are more important to me than the Serpents, Betts. You will always come first for me. Don’t ever forget that.”

She sighed, but smiled. “Juggie… I  _ know.  _ You always make me feel it. I just--I want to make sure you’re happy. I don’t want you to resent me.”

He touched his lips to her ear, kissing the soft skin around it. “Stop. This makes me happy. This choice is easy. I need to take care of JB. I need to build my future with you. It’s just that simple.”

She pulls back to look at him, sliding her palms to his face to cup his jaw. “Build a future with me. I really like the sound of that.”

“Me too. It’s everything I need.” He pulled her closer so that that they were kissing, and it was just him, her, and everything they had to look forward to. 

 

*************

 

“I’m up for parole.”

Jughead almost didn’t catch that. They were in a crowded room filled with other inmates and their families and he found himself distracted by the constant sobbing and desperate pleas for better news.

He had wondered, momentarily, how anyone can walk through these doors and think that there was hope for something better. Certainly, whenever he and Jellybean came to visit, they spend most of the drive over just managing their expectations.

Instead of, “It will be good to see dad!” they would say, “Well, no one’s shanked him yet, so he’s alive.”  Instead of, “He’s sober and getting better!” their thoughts were closer to “At least he’ll be sober.” Instead of, “I can’t wait to tell dad so and so!” they tended to go over the list in their heads, just so they don’t end up with an electrically charged topic.

Not that Jughead ever ran out of things to talk to FP about. As futile as it all felt, Jughead did tell FP about his life. 

Conversation tended to come easier between Jughead and his father, especially since FP’s sobriety was forced on him seven years ago. Whatever sharp anger Jughead had for his father’s incarceration had been smoothed down to a dull ache. Forgiveness was building their relationship anew. FP admitting his mistakes and apologizing to him had gone a long way. 

Jellybean, however, was a different story. She’d been ten when FP was sent to jail, and she barely knew him those ten years. She barely realized her own father was in jail when it happened. He had been so absent from her life that she never knew how it was to have a father in the first place. In some sad, sick way, Jughead had been her dad, and as far as she knew, her dad-brother had taken care of her. She knew FP was her father, intellectually, but she didn’t know how to treat him like her father. She only knew that she visited this stranger in jail because Jughead wanted her to.

Still, she did try to make an effort, bringing him her report cards and sometimes a painting or sketch she made so that he could decorate his own little corner of jail. She tried to tell him things about her life that he may find interesting. 

They did most of the talking. FP’s updates mostly consisted of his sobriety and books he was devouring in the library, which Jughead did wholly appreciate.  

And even deciding that this time, Jughead  _ wasn’t  _ going to tell FP about the FBI and all that drama he had to deal with regarding the Serpents, he probably had a host of other mundane things to talk about with FP, so to hear him say he was up for parole was almost shocking.

Jughead was of the firm belief that FP would be serving the full 10 years of his sentence. Parole was a dream that was reserved for white collar offenders. 

“When?” Jughead asked, blinking. “I mean, when’s your hearing?”

“Tomorrow.”

Jughead’s jaw dropped. “Holy fuck, are you serious?”

FP frowned. “Watch that mouth kid.”

Jughead clamped his mouth shut, flustered. 

“So what does that mean?” Jellybean asked. “Parole hearing? Do you have to give a speech or something?”

FP nodded. “I tell them what I’ve done to improve myself to make myself a useful member of society. I tell them how much I regret my past actions, and then I throw in how I’ve repaired the bridges I’ve torn down over the course of my stay. It’s all very procedural, but if they like what they hear and no one objects, they’ll approve an early release.”

“How likely is that?” Jughead asked.

FP seesawed his hand from side to side. “Chances are good. Been clean for years, been taking some online courses to get my GED, and I haven’t had any incidents since I got here…”

“And if they approve? How long before they let you go?”

“2 to 3 months, give or take.”

“Dad!” Jellybean gasped. “You can be out by April!”

FP nodded.

Jughead didn’t even know what to do with that information. Where was FP going to stay? What was he going to do when he got out? Would Jughead have to take him in? Would he have to ask Archie to move out? 

“Kid,” FP said, reaching out to put a hand on Jughead’s arm. “You don’t have to worry about the details. They give me a place to stay to start, then they help me take off on my own. You don’t have to worry about me.”

For a moment, Jughead actually felt his breath hitch and tremble. He should be happy for his father and for himself, but he only felt worry. Would FP be able to stay sober outside?

FP cocked a smile. “You’re worried about my sobriety aren’t you? You can’t hide stuff from your old man.”

Jughead frowned. “Aren’t you?”

FP sighed, leaning back on his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course I am, but I’ve got my sponsor on the outside and I just need to believe in myself. I can only hope for the best, kid.”

Jughead tried not to let his innate cynicism dampen his father’s motivation. He found himself asking  _ What would Betty do? _

“It’s gonna be fine, dad. I’ll help you out however I can. We’ll meet in places with no alcohol. If you need me to get you out of a sticky situation, call me or text me and I’ll pick you up. If you just need to talk, I can--”

“That’s all a sponsor’s job, kid. But thank you. I appreciate it a lot.”

Jughead did feel the need to show his father that he was desperate to make this stick. “My girlfriend helps out at the local community center--families who deal with substance abuse issues. Maybe JB and I can get information so we can help you out better. You can pop in if you like. It’s a good place. What do you think?”

A small smile crinkled FP’s face. “I think it sounds good.” He paused. “So, you have a girlfriend?”

Jughead hadn’t even thought about that, how this was his first time mentioning Betty to his father. It wasn’t a secret. He just hadn’t talked to FP about it. He supposed he didn’t believe that FP had earned that part of him yet that contained all his hopes, happiness, and dreams. 

Perhaps his little slip meant he thought FP had earned a little of it, now. “Yeah, I have a girlfriend.”

“You should see her, dad,” Jellybean said, enthusiastically. “She’s super gorgeous and smart. I don’t know how Jug landed her, honestly.”

“Hey,” Jughead said, smirking in spite of himself. “Okay, so maybe she’s way out of my league and she just hasn’t come to her senses.”

“Maybe?” Jellybean giggled.

“You’re going to bed with just bread and water tonight.”

FP chuckled, shaking a finger at Jughead. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid. I might not be the best example, but your grandfather, Forsythe Pendleton the first--I grew up hearing stories of how he hauled in the ladies in his day! He treated them all good and they had nothing but good things to say about him. And when he married your grandmother, he treated her like a queen. I saw it, and she loved him passionately until the day she died. You take after him, son. He was whip smart and he knew how to take care of the people he loved.”

“Oh, Jug’s been super extra with her,” Jellybean teased. “He buys her flowers and little knick knacks whenever he thinks of her. He takes her to picnics and live bands in parks. We spent last Christmas with her family in Boston and she and Jughead exchanged gifts that  _ they made  _ for each other. Like, dad--it was  _ so amazingly romantic _ \--”

Jughead felt his face warming. “Shut up. I have an image.”

“And what image is that? Whipped?”

He couldn’t even be ashamed of that. He  _ was  _ whipped. He was completely gone. “Honestly, can you blame me? It’s Betty.”

Jellybean gave him an affectionate smile. “I know.”

FP smirked. “Betty, eh? That’s a sweetheart name. She sounds like a nice lady.”

“She’s the best lady,” Jughead gushed, unable to help himself. 

“Jug gets so mushy about her. You should’ve heard his dramatics about being separated from her at Christmas. Even Archie, who is generally the sweetest guy, had to tell him to shut up already. I swear, it was probably why Betty decided to bring us both along--he was pathetic.”

“You’re all just jealous of what Betty and I have.”

Jellybean ran a hand down her face. “Oh, my God.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Jughead. I really am.”

Jughead cracked a bashful grin. “Maybe you’ll meet her one day.”

“Maybe,” said FP noncommittally. “You don’t have to introduce me, kid. It’s okay.”

“I tell her everything and she knows about you. She won’t judge. She’s not like that.”

“She’s really sweet, dad. You’ll like her,” Jellybean said.

“I have no doubt I would,” FP replied, leaning over and folding his arms over the table. “Just another thing to look forward to if I get out of here.”

He didn’t sound very optimistic this time, but Jughead didn’t blame him. Jughead knew what it was to want something so bad only to have it taken away. However good FP’s chances were to get that parole approval, nothing was certain and the odds were hardly ever in their favor. 

It was Jughead’s signal to reign himself back to reality. FP wasn’t out yet and it was all the more reason not to hope that things will turn out the way they want.

“One day at a time, dad,” Jughead said quietly.  

Jellybean seemed to pick up on it and said nothing, her bright smile dimming ever so slightly.

FP nodded. “That’s right. One day at a time.”

 

*********************

 

Their gift exchange last Christmas was of him writing a short story about a girl who had traveled the world, meeting strangers along the way that made her better, one encounter at a time. So when she got back home, she was different, but the same, stronger in all the ways that mattered and softer where she needed to be. It ended with her meeting the next door neighbor whom she’d never thought to introduce herself to the last few months, but who had, apparently, always wanted to get to know her. In this story, the neighbor’s gender, name, or appearance was never revealed, just that it was a neighbor who was amazing and everything she ever looked for in the world around her, and that their meeting promised a lot of interesting outcomes. 

Jughead didn’t want to say that it was the story of  _ them.  _ Frankly, he wasn’t thinking that when he wrote it. It  _ was  _ the story of  _ her.  _ It was about her shaping herself under her terms. It was about Betty, after all her adventures and challenges, meeting  _ herself-- _ that wonderful next door neighbor. 

So while it can be said that her, finding herself  _ was  _ their story, he didn’t exactly mean for it to be. This was for  _ her,  _ he just happened to be along to see it happen.

When she finished reading it, the reviews were stellar. Mainly, she made out with him all night, because at the time, he was just around the four week mark of recovery, so yes,  _ there was no actual sex,  _ but she had gotten him off embarrassingly easy, and he was at least capable of putting his hands down her panties and making her come. 

He had never been so proud of an unpublished work in his life. 

He’d also given her a necklace with a crown pendant, because he was probably a possessive dork who still had a whisper of insecurity about why Betty actually chose him. This gift was also well-received. When she called him “my King,” he was effectively finished.

What  _ she  _ gave him was a mix of bought and made, too. Quirky, clever things that made his heart soar, not just because they were fantastic, but because it was so much evidence of how they knew one another so blessedly well. 

She had, apparently, found a classic Underwood. The typewriter of champions, and he loved it to distraction. He had spent an inordinate amount of time after receiving it to look for  _ just the right paper  _ and hunting up the best ink ribbon cartridges--a brand that wouldn’t smear and would last longer, even with multiple uses. 

The  _ other  _ gift, the one that was made, was a handful of mixed tapes.  _ Mixed tapes-- _ plural _.  _ And she had found a walkman for him to play the tapes on. The mixed tapes consisted of various songs that she thought reminded her of him and them. Her voice would come on between each song, telling him in short, witty quips why the next song was in this tape. The last tape rounded up the  _ awful  _ songs him, Archie, Jellybean, and her had spoken of that one evening around the dinner table, and he loved that, too.  

The only reason he was thinking about this now was because Betty had just recently bought a car for restoration and she was now writing out a budget that would enable her to buy the engine she wanted.

He had only begun to realize around that time that while Betty was not materialistic and she didn’t need diamonds and pearls, he wanted to give her things. He wanted to buy her  _ stuff,  _ because there were certainly material things that made her happy, and he lived for that. 

Her birthday was coming up and he had come into some money.  As it turned out, helping the FBI put the kibosh on a drug cartel had monetary rewards and he was willing to part with some of it to buy this engine for Betty. 

With a little help from Sweet Pea and Sabrina, who were now happily dating, he was able to buy the engine from the seller, much to Betty’s dismay. 

She had no idea that he was the buyer and she basically believed that the engine was lost to her forever. 

 

************

 

On Betty’s birthday, Jughead took her out to dinner in a nice Spanish restaurant, dancing in a swing club--neither of them knew how to dance the swing, but the place was energetic and the most basic moves were easy enough to follow from other patrons; they had a blast, and drinks at a quiet lounge, where she drank her first “legal” alcoholic beverage, now that she was 21. 

At the end of the evening, Jughead told her he had a surprise for her, and when he brought her to her storage garage, she found the engine perched on a crate bottom on the floor, a big ribbon on top of it.  

She had stared at the engine for a full minute, and when she finally looked at him, she jumped into his arms and smothered him with ravenous kisses. 

Needless to say, he got  _ very  _ lucky that night. 

 

*************

 

Two things happened that impacted their lives: The first thing that happened was that Kevin fell in love with Joaquin. 

And Betty knew it before Kevin told her, so that didn’t come as too much of a shock. 

So when Kevin and Joaquin invited Betty and Jughead to dinner, presumably for a double date, Betty assumed it was so that Kevin could tell them, with pomp and circumstance, that he and Joaquin were an item. 

That was  _ not  _ why he invited them. 

“Joaquin and I decided to move in together!” Kevin declared, taking Joaquin’s hand joyously. 

Betty promptly dropped her fork with a clumsy clatter, shock evident on her face. “W-What?”

Kevin’s smile went from joyous to frozen, and Jughead was pretty much out of words, himself. He wasn’t sure if he  _ should  _ say anything. 

“D-Do you mean, he’s moving in with us?” Betty asked. 

Kevin had clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks suddenly growing deeply red. “N-No, sweetie. I mean--I mean I’m moving out… with Joaquin.”

Jughead was fully expecting that Betty’s rapid-eye blinking would be followed by an onslaught of tears. This was  _ not  _ the type of news Kevin should’ve broached so casually, at dinner in a restaurant, with his boyfriend and hers watching it all happen.

But really, who was he to judge?  Betty and Kevin’s friendship, he knew, was special in so many ways. They grew up together and for most of their lives, they were each other’s cheerleader. Jughead knew that theirs was a friendship that transcended expectations and maybe even laws (meaning, if either one of them needed a body buried, the other would help dig the grave without question).

So really, this lapse in Kevin’s judgement was unprecedented and Jughead didn’t want to influence Betty’s reaction.

For a moment, Jughead thought Betty would break like a dam, but she’d had years of practice with Alice, after all.  After another second of uncertainty, she seemed to find her purchase and finally, she smiled, dry-eyed, and said, “I am so happy for you guys!”

Kevin gave a relieved sigh, leaning to the side where he and Betty hugged, saying, “Thank you, Betty! I knew you would be. It won’t be until our lease expires, so around July, probably August--months from now. I’ll finish the rent with you for the year, for sure.”

The conversation was directed to Kevin and Joaquin’s plans, how they were going to find a place between mid and uptown, how Joaquin would be working shifts at a restaurant while he studied culinary arts--it was everything they ever wanted. 

While Betty listened and gushed for their benefit, she clasped Jughead’s hand desperately under the table. 

The only time she ever expressed any kind of sorrow was when she said, “I’m really going to miss living with you, Kev.” Her eyes teared briefly.

Kevin’s eyes teared, too, and he threw his arms over Betty again, “Oh, honey! It’s not like I’m moving out of state, and you and I will still have sleepovers, for sure, but Joaquin and I really want to try this out and make something of it, you know?”

She nodded, enthusiastically. “Of course! Oh, I know. You guys are going to do great together.”

They finished dinner, and after they separated outside the restaurant, Betty waved at Kevin and Joaquin’s retreating figures. When they turned the corner, Betty promptly burst into tears.

All Jughead really had to do was let her sink into his embrace and cry a bit more until she was ready to speak. 

“I’m just fucking pathetic,” she declared, sniffling. “Like, what the hell is wrong with me?”

Jughead sighed, perching his chin atop her head as he gently swayed them. “Nothing is wrong with you. I mean, maybe Kevin could’ve sat you down and talked to you in a more private setting?”

“Maybe,” she muttered into his chest. “But honestly, Jug, Kevin has been putting me first for the last three years. This is the first time he’s ever done something that was completely for himself.  I’m a big girl. I shouldn’t be expecting him to baby me like he always did in the past.”

“Yeah, well…”

“But, it’s always been me and Kevin. We were a team!”

“You still are, baby. He’s not moving out until July. And like he said, he’ll still be in New York. You’ll still see each other in school. You’ll still go out together. He’s still your best friend.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know, but he’s--”

“I know,” he replied, gently. He started to walk them away from the restaurant, his arm securely around her. He pulled her firmly into his side. “Let’s eat a huge bowl of ice cream--like a  _ huge  _ bowl. With stupid sweet toppings, like brownies and donuts and whipped cream.”

Betty laughed, wrapping her arms around his middle. “Are you channelling Kevin right now? Are you going to paint my toenails?”

“He does that?”

“Occasionally.”

“Okay… how hard can it be?”

She grinned up at him and he tenderly wiped the tears from her face with a brush of his thumb. He pressed a kiss to her lips and she accepted that comfort with a soft sigh. 

“We’ll get the ice cream,” Jughead said. “Then we’ll go to your apartment. I’m going to take all your clothes off and make you feel so good. How about that?”

“We can skip the ice cream.”

 

***********

 

The second thing that happened was that Archie fell in love. 

This was a shocker, mostly because Archie had hardly even talked about having a girlfriend, but apparently, he did. His fling with Valerie Brown had developed into a little more than daily hookups. 

“We’ve been kind of dancing around this for a couple of months now,” Archie explained nonchalantly, as him and Jughead sat across from one another in a booth at a diner. “But we never talked about it until last night. We’ve both been putting it off because of Trev, you know?”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Ugh, does this mean I’ll have to hang out with Trev every now and then?”

Archie laughed. “Maybe! I keep forgetting that he has a thing for Betty.”

“ _ Has a thing?  _ Is that still  _ a thing?” _

“Oh, majorly, dude. He was pretty sure you got into trouble when you went into surgery and that Betty would dump you for it. He was ready to get on that.”

Jughead scowled. “Tell him to get a life. Betty and I are happy. We’re happy, dammit.”

Archie shrugged, arms wide. “Hey, I tell him, but he’s seriously smitten.”

“How could he be? She, what--says hi to him when she jogs around the football field?”

“I think they’ve had a few conversations here and there.”

Jughead scoffed. “Small talk. She’s just being a sweetheart. Betty’s super polite like that.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Archie said, nodding.  “Man, Betty’s crazy for you and you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I can totally vouch for your girl. She talks about you with him  _ all the time.” _

“God, what is he even thinking? Why won’t he leave her alone? Do I need to talk to him? You think I should tell him to shove the fuck off?”

“He likes your girl but Betty’s got blinders for you, man, so I think you can chill on this one.”

“I’m chill. Like, really chill.”

Archie laughed hysterically. He always seemed so entertained when the subject of Trev came up.  Trev was still, after all, the guy Betty had dinner with and still has a good opinion of. 

“Anyway, like you said, you might end up inadvertently hanging out with each other,” Archie said, easily. “He’s my girlfriend’s brother and we’re buds. It’s inevitable.”

Jughead wasn’t completely thrilled by the idea, but he supposed he could deal with it. 

He’d always known that Archie was the type of guy who didn’t let bothersome details get in the way of his happiness. He didn’t sweat the small stuff, so when a month and a half later, Archie told Jughead and Jellybean that he and Valerie were moving in together, Jughead wasn’t surprised in the least. 

“Like, really, Arch,” Jellybean grumbled. “Did you flip a coin making this decision? Didn’t you just start dating this girl?”

It was immensely amusing to listen to Jellybean being the adult in this conversation. 

In true Archie fashion, he was unaffected by her practical questions. “When you know, you know!”

“Your best friend’s an idiot,” Jellybean told Jughead.

“Oh, I know.”

 

***********

 

Jughead rolled his tongue against Betty’s, a small giggle escaping her even as their lips moved heatedly against each other. 

He’d planted her on the marble countertop, his body nestled between her thighs. With all the heavy lifting done and the boxes organized enough that they can all take their time setting up their bedrooms, the move was officially completed. 

Betty, in the denim cutoffs that had driven him crazy all afternoon, was barefoot and shirtless on  _ their _ new kitchen counter. 

Jellybean had skipped out with Gabe the moment she put down her last box. “And I’m outta here!” she cried, running out before Jughead could yell at her to text him what time she was coming home. 

As a result of Jellybean’s quick exit, Jughead soon realized that he had Betty all to himself the next few hours. 

So as dusty and sweaty as they both were, he very eagerly decided they would christen their new apartment.

His lips traveled down her throat, his teeth scraping gently against her soft skin, followed by his tongue. He sucked on her neck while he thrust his hips against the apex of her thighs. His fingers nimbly undid the clasp of her bra and slid the lacy garment off her, his attentions going from her throat to the beautiful slope of her breasts.

She hummed and sighed, rolling her hips to get more friction where she wanted. “Hmm, Jug. You’ve been checking me out all day. It’s about damn time…”

“Oh, babe, if I could’ve told JB to give us a couple of hours, I would’ve,” he murmured against her skin. “You look  _ so hot  _ in these cut offs.”

“I know what drives you crazy.” She said this clearly, brooking no doubt that this seduction was premeditated and it fired his desire even more. 

“Your body drives me crazy,” he growled. “And I’ve been seeing your panties through the bottom of your shorts. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one who got hot and bothered by you.”

She giggled. “I thought that doorman was being super sweet.”

“He let the door close on me twice,” Jughead said, splaying his hands along her spine and tilting her backwards so he could lavish attention on her nipples with his mouth. 

That heady moan he wanted escaped her throat. Her knees lifted higher along his sides, like a reflex, and it fitted his covered erection even more flush against her. 

“Juggie,” she gasped. “I want you  _ now.  _ We can play later, okay? I just want you so bad.”

She didn’t exactly need to twist his arm. He swiftly peeled off his shirt and quickly began undoing his belt. Betty’s fingers followed the line of hair that trailed down his belly and expertly popped the buttons of his pants.  

Her clever hands dove beneath his boxers and he felt her grip his dick, stroking him with perfect pressure. It sent him groaning with pleasure. He cupped her face in his hands and swirled his tongue against hers. 

As she sucked the bottom of his lip between her teeth, his hands lowered to work on her shorts, removing them from her and pressing circles with his fingers through her damp panties. She moaned against his mouth, her hand pumping him faster. 

He was so hard for her, and hurriedly, he pulled her panties off, sliding out one leg and then letting it drop off the other. She pushed down his boxers and pants. Desperately, he toed off his sneakers and socks so that he could kick his clothes away completely. 

Gripping her by her thighs, he lined them up and thrust into her. She cried out as he made a strangled sound, savoring the warm wetness of her around him.  

“God, Betts,” he groaned. “You feel so good.” 

She moaned her agreement, and pulling her tight against him, he moved inside her, stroking into her as his fingers gripped her thighs. 

Her arms were draped over his shoulders loosely as she thrust back, keening her approval. She looked so hot and gorgeous this way, legs wrapped around him, a fine sheen of sweat pooling between her beautiful, full breasts, he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Desperately, he shoved his hand between them and pressed circles around her clit with his thumb. “Come with me, baby.”

“O-Oh, Jug!” she gasped, throwing her head back, wailing as she clenched and fluttered around his cock.  

“Fuck, yeah!” he cried, loudly, his explosive release sending shockwaves through his body. He pushed deep inside her, expending his load as she rode her own orgasm against him. 

When finally, they slowed and came down from the mind-blowing high, they leaned against one another, their chests meeting as they caught their breaths. 

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.  “Oh, my God.”

Exhausted, he had no words for how amazing that was, so he just kissed her. Even with most of his desire spent, he flicked his tongue languidly against hers, stoking that heated intensity they always had for one another. 

He carried her to their bed, the one they were now going to share every night. 

Pulling the covers over them, he stared down at her lovely face, his cheek propped up on the heel of his palm.  

She smiled up at him, touching his face as her eyes gleamed. “We’re sharing an apartment. We’re living together.”

He chuckled, softly. “What gave it away? The shared closet or both our toothbrushes in the bathroom?”

“You tease, but do you realize that it was around this time last year that we met?”

Of course he knew that. He smirked. “I was crazy about you the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Silly.”

“True.”

“Was it the Hitchcock question? That’s what made you all hot and bothered about me, wasn’t it?”

“Close, but not quite.” He made idle circles on the skin of her shoulder. “Like a Hitchcock blonde, you were mysterious. And contradictory. There was more to you than what you wanted people to expect of you.”

“But I’m not a mystery to you anymore,” she said. “You know everything there is to know about me. Does that mean you’ll lose interest?”

“Everything about you is interesting, Betty. The parts of you I know best has me begging for more.”

A small smile played on her lips, her own fingers running lightly up and down his arm. “I just thought you were super hot.”

“You  _ did not,”  _ he said, laughing softly. “You thought I was weird. With my hat, and my name.”

“I  _ never  _ thought you were weird, Jughead Jones,” she cooed. “Not that there’s anything really wrong with that. And I did think you were hot, and intelligent, and someone I could trust. Someone who makes me feel safe...”

They probably weren’t just talking about the night they met anymore.

He looked into her eyes and saw his entire world. 

When Betty Cooper kissed him at that party, he began living his best life. Sure, they had to take a few detours along the way, and their ride took on noticeable dings, but they stayed the course and kept going along that wide open road. 

They will keep on driving, seeing new places, new faces, making stops and staying longer at some of them. Wherever they might go, he was sure it was going to be an amazing trip. 

 

***********

 

Friday 10:03 AM

**GirlNextDoor:** You there?

**FPJones3:** Elizabeth Cooper, why aren’t you paying attention in class?

**GirlNextDoor:** Shut up. I am.

**GirlNextDoor:** Guess who just texted me.

**FPJones3:** I couldn’t possibly know.

**GirlNextDoor:** The white rabbit.

….

**FPJones3:** It’s been a while.

**GirlNextDoor:** I know.

….

**FPJones3:** You wanna follow it down the rabbit hole?

**GirlNextDoor:** You gonna follow it with me?

….

**FPJones3:** Baby, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.

  
  


 

 

**_fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, read the [Fun Facts Mostly Related to Drive](https://writeradamanteve.tumblr.com/post/171164864837/fun-facts-mostly-related-to-drive)

**Author's Note:**

> Well? What do you think?


End file.
